Guardian Angel
by Wordsmith 17
Summary: Veteran-brother Tullius of the Iron Hands. Hero. Saviour. More machine than man. But does an underhive nobody with a tragic past hold the keys to his humanity? Violence, strong but occasional, as well as female homosexuality references and strong language in places. When I say references, I mean references, THERE IS NO EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. The world belongs to Games Workshop.
1. Chapter 1

**_I'm back! I have been working on this story for a while, and I hope it will make up for my botched attempt at replicating the genius of CDC. Note: there is violence in this first chapter, and it might be a bit short, but the story is not all violence, and this is more of a sort of teaser._**

Rain. Rain falling on his head. This Veteran-brother Tullius knew. That prompted an urgent question: where was his helmet? He turned his throbbing head to the left, then to the right. His helmet did not appear to be in view. This was strange. He could remember very little other than a fight, a fall, a landing. The rest of his armour appeared to be intact, except for a dent on his pauldron and some shallow scores on his breastplate, but his helmet was without a doubt gone. He pushed himself to his feet, and walked up and down for a few minutes until feeling returned to his legs. He looked around for a weapon, but his Bolter and Combat Blade had clearly been lost in the fall. He began, slowly, methodically, to walk to the end of the street.

Raquel Menzanez was slammed back into the wall. She felt bruised all over, and she was terrified. The three men attacking her at the moment were armed, one with a knife, one with a Laspistol, and one with an Autogun. The Autogun man was tall, thin, and unpleasant, with a curled-up lip and an unpleasant Marseilles Wave in his hair. The knife man was short, fat, and mean, and took a sick pleasure in the pain of others. She knew them both intimately. They met on Fridays, when she couldn't pay her rent on the small ferrocrete hut she lived in. The Laspistol man was the boss of the Messengers, the fifty-man gang that controlled their section of the Underhive with an iron fist. He was tall, well-built, and tried to be handsome despite a trio of large, disfiguring scars across his face. He was currently looming over her as she cowered on the floor. "Now listen!" He shouted in her face, "we have been PATIENT! We let you live, and what do we ask in return? Thanks! Gratitude! But most of all, WE WANT OUR MONEY!" He paused. The charge on his Laspistol whined up. "So we are going to take from your DEAD BODY!" she prepared herself for the end. She had studied martial arts and weapons for so long, she would have thought herself well-equipped for a fight, but she never had been-never would be strong enough or fast enough. She closed her eyes.

"Stop." The voice was deep, and grating, and mechanical. It reverberated deep within her lungs and chest, setting her ribs vibrating like the keys on a Xylophone. The boss swung round, and saw the speaker. It was a massive figure, clad in something that looked like…

"Holy Emperor…" she breathed. A Space Marine. The Guardian Angels of Humanity, the shining elite decked in ancient battle-plate and tasked with defending the Imperium against the myriad threats among the stars. The three men, all hopped up on Lho-sticks, did not notice the armour. They barely noticed the size. The leader levelled his pistol.

"Get lost, freak. This ain't your turf." The Space Marine spoke back.

"I find your harassment of others distressing." The leader gave what was probably meant to be a smart quip.

"Screw you." And he pulled the trigger on his pistol. The beam struck the Space Marine square on the breastplate, and disappeared.

"That was ineffective." And with that brusque appraisal, the Space Marine moved forward. The leader squeezed off two more shots before the Space Marine was upon him, lashing out with a backhand. The fist connected, and the leader fell back, skull crushed, jawbone powdered, cheekbone shattered, blood pumping freely. The knife man stepped forward, holding his blade right-handed.

"Come on you piece of crap, I will cut you up. Fire!" The Autogun man fired wildly, and the Marine threw up an arm to protect his head. Bullets pinged off his armour, and he launched a deadly right hook that propelled the knife man into a wall. He struck and landed with sickening crunches. The Autogun man took one look at his compatriots' corpses, and ran. He made it four metres before the Space Marine was on him, breaking his back. Raquel heard the snap from where she was curled up. She was stunned. These men had terrorised her life for so long, but to see them killed so quickly, so brutally, so callously, was still a terrifying thing to watch. A hand was extended down to her. It was the Space Marine. She accepted the hand, trying to keep her fingers away from the splatters of blood and grey matter on the back of the gauntlet. She looked up at her saviour, and saw him properly for the first time. His armour was dented, and the helm was missing altogether, revealing a deeply scarred face, in some places held together by Adamantium staples. A cyborg eye whirred slightly as it focused on her. An upraised fist was tattooed on his forehead, and was bisected by one of the scars. Several fresher wounds lay around his face, and she recognised them as knife marks. She knew knife marks far too well. His armour was black with white detailing, the colour of the Iron Hands. Carlos had told her about them. Believing the flesh to be innately flawed, they cybernetically augmented themselves beyond being organic, to the point of being more machine than man. She had seen propaganda vids on the one large pict-screen in the building, the one in the basement. Space Marines were shown on the vids, but they were always wearing helmets and working alongside Guardsmen. They did not look like the pitted, scarred, beaten, bruised creature she saw before her. He spoke.

"I am injured. Do you have shelter?"

 _ **If you liked this, for crying out loud, just comment. If you didn't like it, comment. Just comment. It gets annoying seeing how few people want to share any sort of opinion about my stories.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Hello, and welcome back to the world of Tullius and Raquel. I hope you enjoy._**

The apartment was dusty, as Raquel had not had a chance to clean recently. Dirty pots and pans cluttered the small cooking area, a dirty set of underwear lay draped over the back of the couch and the remains of yesterday's lunch were on her bedside table. The Space Marine stayed standing, but she sunk down into the sofa. It creaked, and a cloud of dust issued forth. An awkward silence reigned, one of the sort that would occur if a champion of your species arrived at your house and your protein paste was all over your bedside table. Eventually, the Space Marine spoke. "Tullius." She looked at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"That is my name. I presumed that knowledge of my name would facilitate future communications."

"Oh. OK. I am Raquel Menzanez, Lord." Tullius nodded.

"Raquel Menzanez. It is an interesting name."

"Th...Thank you, Lord. Do you need anything? Food, water," she trailed off. She could think of nothing else he would need that she could provide.

"With your permission, I would use your house as a temporary place of residence. And I have not eaten in many days. Any food would be welcome." She nodded hurriedly.

"Of course, of course." she ran to the kitchenette, and fished out a tin of protein rations. She then handed it to him.

"My thanks, Raquel Menzanez." He ate the food in seconds, and deposited the tin in the fibre sack that served as a bin. Raquel was scared. Space Marines did not arrive unheeded from the sky without good reason. They definitely did not arrive to save Underhive nobodies. Whatever Tullius was here to do, it had seemingly very nearly cost him his life. And she was now allowing him into her house and feeding him. Which meant she was now embroiled in whatever war he had come here to fight.

The next few days took on a sort of routine. The Messengers seemed to have turned inwards to lick their wounds, and left her alone. She would shop in the morning, and in the afternoon she would stay indoors. On the first day, she came back to find Tullius cleaning his gauntlet. It followed a semi-religious pattern. Hold the gauntlet under the tap for two seconds. Remove from tap. Scrub with the heel of the other hand. Repeat. After three repetitions, he seemed satisfied that all the blood and brain was cleared off his gauntlet. He then stood up, and turned around. "Hello, Raquel Menzanez."

"Hello, Lord." And there was their usual awkward, formal greeting. The weapons he had taken from the men he had killed were neatly arranged in the small area of the house he had claimed as his own. The neat row of weapons was a stark contrast to the messy, civilian environment around them. They shook hands, her trying to keep her hands from shaking, him trying to avoid crushing every bone in her hand to a fine powder. This ritual complete, she handed him a tin of protein rations. He ate them, and deposited the tin in the fibre sack. She then continued with her never ending task of cleaning up. On the third day, he helped her clean. On the fourth day, as he helped her clean, they talked.

"My memory is impaired. Which planet is this?" She was slightly stunned.

"Hive world Nox Secundus, Lord. Ultima Segmentum."

"The domain of the sons of Macragge. The question is, I suppose, why am I here?" He paused. "Which Hive City is this?"

"Hive Nox Prime, Lord."

"My thanks. Is there any Imperial authority here?" She thought.

"Very little. The Astra Militarum have a recruiting base in the upper levels, but none from the Underhive ever reach it." _That's not true,_ a little voice in her head whispered, _Carlos reached it._

"Well…very few reach it. Down here, the gangs have control." He nodded.

"Which are the main gangs?" She hesitated before continuing.

"The Messengers-they own this area of the Underhive. The Red Skulls-they own the top of the Underhive, and keep everyone out of the upper Hive. The Bone Blades-they're the bosses. They work out of the shadows. They're the best-equipped, and they control about half the Underhive both directly and indirectly. And there's another gang that's growing fast-the Heart Eaters. They're savage, powerful, and terrifying. And they…" she swallowed. "They live up to their name." Instantly, Tullius was completely alert.

"What did you say?"

"They…they live up to their name. When they kill an enemy, after the battle, they cut open his or her chest and…and eat the heart." Tullius walked to the weapons. He handed her the Laspistol, and took the Autogun and knife for himself.

"Stay here. Lock and bolt your door, and do not allow anyone in. I will be back. Where are these Heart Eaters?"

"Third District, Lord. Might I ask why you wish to locate them?"

"I am unaware of the reason for my presence on this world. I may be here because of these Heart Eaters." She seemed satisfied with the reason.

"Good luck."

"Thank you." And with that, he was gone.

Tullius moved as a shadow through the backstreets of Third District. A pair of these Heart Eaters were on patrol. He moved forward quickly, quietly, and readied the knife. As the pair passed, he leapt out at them. A head snapped back, a few drops of blood splattered the street, and the lifeless corpses fell at his feet. He wiped the knife, slung the bodies over his shoulder, and began to walk back to his temporary living space with Raquel Menzanez.

A knock sounded at the door. Raquel shouted out "Who's there?"

"Tullius," came back the deep, grating, mechanical reply, "may I enter?" She was about to open the door when she paused.

"How do I know it's Tullius out there?"

"Through the fact that I am about to open a small hole in your door through which you can see me. Stand back." She stood back, and a knife blade punched through the door. She looked through the hole, and saw his scarred face and black armour.

"Okay, just let me unlock the door." the door clicked, and he pushed it open. She saw the two corpses. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

"Seemingly, judging by the fact that you are going pale. Now, could you help me undress this corpse?" She looked down at the corpse. Tullius looked down at the corpse. "What I just said had alternate implications, didn't it?" she nodded.

 ** _Again, if you enjoyed, comment._**


	3. Chapter 3

The corpse lay on the floor. Raquel had politely declined to help Tullius examine it, and sat in the other corner of the room. Tullius was methodically examining the body, from head to toe. He turned it over again, and suddenly gave a start. "Oh, no." on the man's body, on the small of his back, was the Mark of Khorne.

"What's wrong?"

"Excuse me," he said with his usual lack of inflection, "I gave to go and burn these corpses." she nodded slowly, confused. "To eliminate the Chaos taint," he explained.

A thick cloud of burnt pork smell settled like a thick, heavy blanket over the street. Raquel was glad the street she lived on was uninhabited. Otherwise, Tullius would be attacked by a mob looking for food. For the first time since he had come into her life, she had time to think about the Space Marine. He had saved her life, that was for sure. If it was not for him, her corpse would be lying in a back alley, beginning to decompose. But what he had brought with him was little better. Chaos Cultists, and their brutality, and their weapons, and her caught in between a rock that was trying to protect her and a hard place. _That's not fair,_ said her little inner voice, _he didn't bring those things. Those things brought him._ And with that thought, for the first time, she started to feel sympathy for the man. To never know a normal life, to never be able to just take a moment and rest, to never be able to control where he went… _but_ _to live without fear,_ said her inner voice. Tullius returned, wiping blood and ash off his armour with a rag, and spoke. "My armour is experiencing minor stiffness in the left gauntlet's third finger's knuckle joint, and I must perform maintenance. You may leave the room if you feel embarrassed at my disrobement." she nodded.

"Of course, Lord." She then left the room. There were a few loud clunks, and then some noises she could not identify, a deep chant in binary, and a building whine like the charging of a Laspistol. Then she felt a muzzle press against the base of her skull.

"Don't move."

Tullius finished his chant, closed the maintenance panel, and put his armour back on. Then he heard Raquel Menzanez calling from outside. "Lord, could you come out here for a second?" he shrugged, deciding he might as well humour her, when he heard a quiet voice say, "quiet, bitch." He took the knife from the weapon pile, and threw open the door. A man in makeshift armour received a knife to the throat. Raquel Menzanez was grabbed by the arm and pulled back inside. He then quickly poked his arm out, and dragged the corpse inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a calm voice, checking her all over for injuries. He had to make sure she was safe before checking the corpse for Chaos symbols. The corpse drew in a gasping breath. Instantly, Tullius was standing over him, knife at the ready.

"Who sent you?" The man gave a blood-smeared smile.

"The only true power in the Galaxy," he coughed, and blood spilled over his lips. "And He has a message…for you, Veteran-Brother Tullius, and your mortal friend," he spoke the last word like it was something acidic he was being forced to regurgitate, then his voice dropped as his lungs gave out. "You will burn. Blood for the Blood God!" And the frag grenade under his armour detonated. The original charge blasted apart, setting off an array of small packets of explosive in his armour that turned what was left of the man into the centre of a storm of metal fragments. Tullius lunged for Raquel, shielding her with his own armoured bulk. He felt a trio of metal shards cut his face, and felt Raquel shudder. More metal pinged off his armour, and one shard embedded itself in the flesh under his pauldron. Then the metal stopped coming. The smoke began to clear. He looked around. It seemed the explosion had ended. The room was blasted and the walls were pitted where metal fragments had struck them. Where the man had lain there was only a crater lined with the pieces of armour that had been blasted into the floor by the explosion. Of the man's mortal remains, there was little sign. Only a few fingers and a fragment of skull could be seen around the room. Tullius turned to Raquel. His heart turned to ice, and his blood to Arctic waters. She was standing, hunched over, holding her hand to her side. A fragment of metal lay at her side, the tip red. As red as the blood that poured out between her fingers. He hurried to her side.

"Is there a medical facility in the Underhive?" He asked. She shook her head.

"One…Guard recruiting." He picked her up. Ripping her shirtsleeves off, he held them to the wound. Then he picked up the Autogun, and started running. He had to get to the recruiting centre before she lost too much blood.

 _ **I just got my first follower! Thank you, Math725e, whoever you are.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**My not-published backlog of material for this story has hit 20,000 words!**_

Tullius ran through the streets, Raquel in his arms. People dived out of the way of the giant Space Marine as he thundered past, and others pointed and gaped. Raquel was dying in his arms, breaths becoming ever fainter and more ragged. He saw a trio of Gangers walking around, harassing the populace. No time to delay. They turned to face him, and he barrelled through them, sending them flying like ninepins. Another group of Gangers, Red Skulls by the look of them, hurried to close a makeshift gate at the end of the street. He shot them dead with precise, three-round bursts without breaking stride. As he ran past the gate, he fired a shot into the locking mechanism. The gate slammed shut. He kept running, conscious of Raquel's gasping breaths, and of the blood pumping down his armour. The recruiting centre was in sight. No time to find the entrance.

Administratum official Augusta Rahmen was working late. She always did. She was a creature of habit, and worked late every day. She maintained this work ethic with a strict routine of caffeine tablets, bright lights, and sleep on Sundays. The routine, though flawless in terms of her small, rigid way of life, did not account for sudden clouds of ferrocrete dust setting off a fit of coughing as part of a wall imploded two feet away. She dropped her caffeine tablets. A hulking figure stepped out of the cloud of dust. A deep, grating, mechanical voice spoke. "Where are your medical personnel?"

Raquel lay on a bed, plastic tubes linked to her veins at several locations. Through the tubes linked to her left arm were empty right now, as they were used to take blood samples and check for infection. The ones linked to the crook of her right elbow and her right hand flowed with blue and clear nutrient fluids, respectfully. The tube in her leg occasionally turned green as it shot sedative into the vein. The shard had not gone far, but a piece had broken off and struck her external iliac. Tullius sat by her bed. The doctors had long since left, but he could go very long without sleep by using his Catalapsean Node. He touched her hand. Then he stood up. He still had no idea why he was on the planet. He had to find out.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Recruiting Officer Caius Otano looked up from his work. Knock. Knock. Knock. "Who is it?"

"Veteran Brother Tullius, Iron Hands Chapter." Otano scrambled to clear away the various cups of coffee and piles of paperwork on his desk. Knock. Knock. Knock. The door opened, and a legend of his species walked in. He hurriedly stood up.

"Caius Otano, 37th Nox regiment reservists, sir!"

"I did not ask for your name. What record do you have of Astartes deployments to this system?" Caius felt confused, disheartened, awed and put off all at the same time, as well as trying to think of the information the Space Marine required. The result was a slight headache and a small stomach upset. He turned to his pict-screen, and looked through the racks of data tapes below it.

"Deployments, denominations, aha, Astartes deployments! No, no record of any Astartes deployments in this sector for over a hundred years. And the latest deployment was a squad of Scouts of the Dark Angels chapter. My apologies, Lord. By all records, you should not be here." Tullius nodded he spoke again.

"Will the human Raquel Menzanez make a full recovery?"

"We assume so, Lord. Her artery was almost severed, but we were able to graft a piece of excess tissue to seal it. If the shard had gone any deeper, she would have died. If the shard had struck anywhere else, she could have died or been paralysed. All in all, she is very lucky to be alive."

"The gangs in the Underhive. What measures are being taken to suppress them? They are subjugating the populace. One gang is tainted by Khorne."

"We have established a subcommittee to deal with the matter in an efficient and procedurally correct manner." Tullius gave a sigh. It sounded like sandpaper scraping across a Leman Russ.

"Disband the subcommittee. Send a message to the Iron Hands fortress-monastery on Medusa. Where is your armoury?"

Raquel woke up. Tullius was standing by her bedside. She went to sit up, but he held her down gently. "Wait. You must still heal." she nodded gently, as any further movement in her neck induced a pain in her upper back.

"Have you found out why you are here yet?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No. But I know what I must do while I am here." she gave him a confused look. "I will return in a few hours. Now, rest." as she saw him leave, she closed her eyes, and slept.

Grenades, frag, krak and Melta. Check. Two bolters, stripped down for human users. Check. Power sword, check. Bolt pistol, check. Combat blade, check. Perfect. Tullius ran through his mental checklist one more time, and set off to the Underhive. He entered through the gateway controlled by the Red Skulls, singing the hymn of Appeal for Glorious Battle. "Emperor, hear the prayer I offer, not for ease that prayer shall be. But for strength that I may ever, serve mankind courageously!" He continued down into the Underhive. "Not for ever in green pastures would I ask my way to be," the tune was meant to be sung by a single Astartes or a group of mortals, but his voice, grating and rough, butchered it. "But the steep, and rugged pathway, I would tread rejoicingly." he came to the territory of the Heart Eaters. Two barred the way into a building, and opened fire as he approached. He did not waste a single round, simply bashing their heads together as he walked past. Two skulls crumpled. The door shut in his face. He spoke loudly. "Come out and meet your fate, heretics!"

"Go away! The Emperor is false, his Cult a lie!" Tullius gave a shrug. He was becoming rather fond of the gesture.

"Blood for the blood god! Aaackpt! Aagh! Help!"

"No, wait! I have money! Aaahh!"

"Khorne shall protect me! Aaachphkt!" Tullius emerged, panting slightly, from the building. Blood ran in streams around the iconography on his armour. He checked his weapons. Plenty of ammunition. He removed a small piece of flesh from his gauntlet, and began walking towards the Messengers' turf.

Raquel woke up. She looked around. She was in her apartment. Carlos was sitting, making two cups of hot water. He added two small leaves, dried, for flavour, and walked over. "Hola, sis."

"Hola." He handed her a cup, and she drank. The drink was sweet and earthy, with hints of rich berries. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, a knock sounded at the door.

"Imperial Guard, open up!" Carlos suddenly stood up, and ran to the door. He opened it.

"Yes?"

"Carlos Menzanez, you have been called to the service of the Immortal God-Emperor, Lord of Mankind."

 ** _Well, that's what happened to the mysterious Carlos. Another statistic on a General's assessment._**


	5. Chapter 5

Raquel woke up, and tried to sit up. She failed. A group of tubes were attached to her. She considered briefly, then removed them one by one. As she removed the tube in her leg, unbelievable pain thrust like red hot serrated knives all through her lower back, stomach, chest, bottom, and crotch. She almost screamed, but gritted her teeth and kept her mouth shut. She remembered the man in the small house, the explosion, and some sort of conversation. Fighting the pain, she slowly sat up. Each movement brought a new burst of agony, and she collapsed back down on the bed. She tried to speak, and her voice came out croaky and strained. She slowly, agonisingly, turned her head. Left. Right. Nothing but the cold darkness of wherever she was. She lay back, and felt the pain slowly subside as she became used to it. It had been that dream again. The one she always had when her day had been too strange and stressful for her mind to fully process. The first time she had had it was when the news had come through that her brother was MIA, presumed dead. She had screamed then, when she woke up. A noise broke her out of her reverie. She tried to look around, and then collapsed yet again. There was the sound of some footsteps, and she felt the tubes being plugged back in. She tried to move, fight, flee, anything, but the tubes were pumping their contents into her veins once more, and all was blackness.

Tullius walked away from the bloodied ruins of a trio of Bone Blades gangers, and moved forwards to the young woman he had just saved. She was quaking, shivering, and seemed close to tears. It was a subject meriting further observation and cognition, the reaction of mortals to the elimination of a target. With further study, a scale could be devised to assess suitability for military posting based on ability to withstand images of graphic death as well as cause them. Unlike many Astartes, Tullius did not see non-hostile mortals as objectives, cannon fodder, or-as some Blood Angels successor chapters were rumoured to-food. He saw them as the beings he had been created to protect. Any other mission was secondary. Cut down a Tyranid horde, or save a single human? Always the latter would be chosen. His own battle-brothers shared his view for the most part. Other than Dimitrius, and on occasion Sergeant Astamael, they would always be behind him in his quest to save human life, no matter the cost. He could not save all who crossed his path, or even most of them on some occasions, but he would never cease striving to fulfill that first, inviolable goal. Save lives. He moved forward and held a hand out to the woman. She was cowering against the wall, and he held out a hand. He was reminded of Raquel Menzanez. How many? He thought. How many more were there like this? He told her to go to the Imperial Guard recruiting centre. She was worried. He told her the way was clear. She left, quivering slightly. He moved on. Only the rest of the Bone Blades were left. He hid in the shadows. The gang would come to investigate the deaths, and he would be ready. Sure enough, a group of ten men came to investigate. He readied himself to spring. Ancient motors whirred, augmenting his enhanced muscles, and he leapt upon the rearmost ganger. Bones crunched under his mighty bulk, and a scream issued forth. He thumbed the switch on his power sword's hilt, and the the disruptor field sprung up, a sheath of incandescent lethality. The sword, built for human use, was more of a dagger in his hands. Twirling it in a pattern which confused a foe, he lashed out, quick as a snake. The blade sliced across the throat of the ganger to his left. Blood flew, hissing and bubbling where it touched the disruptor field. He used his bolt pistol, sending a bolt into one man's stomach. The secondary detonation of the shell blasted the man apart. This had taken six seconds. _Must be getting slow in my old age,_ he thought wryly. Wait. Humour? From him? Remarkable. He used his fists next, pulverising two more gangers. A volley of Autogun fire slammed into him. He instinctively threw up an arm to protect his head. A bullet cut into his armpit, but he ignored it, shooting the man in the head. A las-round glanced off his breastplate. He ran forward, to where the fire was coming from, and where the last of the Bone Blades were making a stand. The next few seconds were a blur. One arm leapt out, seizing a ganger and throwing him into a wall. A neck snapped. He cut in lethal sweeps with the power sword, and stabbed another man in the eye with his knife. Within half a minute, it was all over. The corpses fell on the cobbles. He turned, and walked away. The people of the Underhive were free. Raquel Menzanez must have woken up by now.

He returned to a scene of chaos. Doctors were running everywhere, and a medium sized portion of the entry hall was ablaze. He approached the administrative man he had met earlier. "What happened here?"

"Raquel Menzanez. She woke up, started screaming something none of us could make out, and then…" he made a gesture to the devastation.

"Casualties?"

"Twelve broken limbs from trying to restrain her, bruises, burns."

"Menzanez. What happened to her?"

"She is currently under sedation." A mighty crash sounded. "Or not."

"She is being permanently sedated?"

"Yes. She seems to be outmatching the sedatives at extreme speed. Her immune system activity is off the charts. Also, from what those in the lab when she awoke have told us, her physical fitness has been greatly enhanced. Her balance also seems to be improved. It is likely that her tissue regeneration is much faster, as well."

"A mutation?" Mutants had to be put to death.

"We believe so, Lord. However, the mutation appears to be within acceptable limits."

"How acceptable?"

"She can still be considered human." Tullius breathed a mental sigh of relief. To see Menzanez executed, after all she had done for him, would be a terrible thing. "However, I believe your assistance will be required to…" another crash, "...restrain her." it was then, of course, that Raquel broke the door. Two guards with power mauls set to stun moved to strike her, but she leapt up and dropped them with two kicks before landing. Now she was armed, with a power maul in each hand. She cracked a man round the head as she swung her other maul up into a woman's jaw, sending blood and teeth flying. Tullius strode forward, holding up his arms in a boxer's stance. She swung for his ribs, but he blocked her. It hurt to fight her, and he felt guilty having to take her down, but she was a danger.

"Raquel Menzanez! Stop this!" He shouted as he parried a flurry of blows.

"Stop protecting them! It's all their fault!"

"What is?" She threw her mauls, and they impacted on his breastplate. He went flying across the room, and landed with a sonorous clang. He drew his bolt pistol, aiming it one handed. "WHAT IS THEIR FAULT?" she stopped moving, just for a few seconds.

"It's their fault my brother is gone." then she was moving again, and as he struggled up, she was running away. He paused briefly, then followed. In this state, she was a danger to innocents.

 _ **Man, I've gotta stop leaving y'all on cliffhangers!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**_I'm sorry for the long wait. really, honestly, truly sorry. So here is an extra long chapter to make up for it._**

The roofs of the Hab-blocks were flat and strong, perfect for Raquel to run across. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, and sprinted forward. She felt perfectly light, not clumsy, like she normally did, and strong. She jumped forward, revelling in the feeling of cold air on her skin. Then the reality of her situation hit her. She had attacked a Space Marine, one who had saved her life. Why had she done that? It was stupid. Now they would have no choice but to hunt her down and kill her. She had to leave this sector. No, this segmentum. She thought for a while. Then it hit her. The Imperial Guard. Anonymity? Check. Food and clothing and shelter? Check. Safety? Well, you couldn't have everything. She thought a bit more. She could stow away on a transport ship. Easy. Hide in the cargo hold. Easy, if boring. Join up with a squad, explain it as an administrative cock-up. Not noticeable, it probably happened all the time. Survive. Probably not too tricky. Much as she hated the Guard-they were the reason Carlos was dead-it was the best way to survive. She looked around. Tullius was approaching. She could not see him, but she heard his footsteps. She turned and ran.

He couldn't catch her. He tried, Emperor knew he tried, but he wasn't fast enough. He never even caught sight of her. Not only was she unbelievably fast, easily able to equal an Eldar in athletic prowess, he would have thought, and the rooftops sometimes worked against him, one weakened rooftop even caving in and sending him crashing down. He began walking back to the recruitment centre. He had to find out what had made her fight him. And what had let her win.

A shadow slipped through the cargo decks of the _Arjute_ -class heavy troop transport _Faith unto Death._ Raquel hid behind some food crates. She had lost Tullius easily, keeping him away with ease. She had to find food, water, some sort of bedding. It would be a long voyage, at least two months. Plenty of time to think about what she had done.

The Strike Cruiser _Ferrous Resolve_ plunged from Warp space into the system of Nox, in the Ultima Segmentum. Recently, they had received word that one of their own, Veteran Brother Tullius, a decorated veteran in possession of an ancient suit of Artificer Armour gifted by the Salamanders, was alive. He had been dead. Now, he was alive. The members of squad Eternal Guidance lined up in the troop bay of a Thunderhawk, the _Angelic Fire_. There was Sergeant Astamael, the second most heavily augmented next to Tullius. Next was the heavy weapon specialist, Dimitrius. Beside him was Cassius, a new addition, but a worthy fighter. Then was Crastor. They disembarked, the strange twilight of the world sending light through the fugue of retro-thrusters to shine dully on their ancient battle-plate. A crowd had gathered. They moved past them silently, Crastor bringing up the rear, the mighty superhumans blessing the various garments, heirlooms and children thrust towards the squad. "The blessings of the Emperor be upon you."

"May your child be smiled upon by His holy countenance."

"May you find happiness." Then they were through the crowd, and walking into the recruiting centre. The place was in a state, a few servitors labouring to repair a doorframe while two more lugged a new door into place, a well-reinforced door. Tullius sat by a bed in a room that appeared to have borne the brunt of some great, one-sided melee. He stood as they approached.

"It is good to see all of you again." he had never before greeted them in such a way, except for one time when he had been but a Neophyte, and they had been full-fledged battle-brothers. "What took you so long? Warp vagaries?"

"Yes. We suffered a Gellar field breach, and had to hunt a minor dæmon through the engines. What of you? We thought you lost in a battle with the Ruinous Powers."

"My memory is hazy of those events. Please could you refresh it?"

"Very well. Here is the relevant memchip. We took it from a Servitor after the battle." Tullius took the proffered storage unit, and inserted it into the small port at the base of his skull. The room vanished.

He was standing among blood and fire. To his left, Astartes held a line against a horde of gibbering monstrosities, mutated beyond any humanity. Bolter fire rang out, the intense percussion of muzzles discharging and the dull crump of secondary detonations forming a macabre symphony with the high, reedy woodwind of screams, and the roar of flamers. He could see himself in his peripheral vision, a steadfast pillar of impassivity. His bolter rang out, Kraken bolts taking a limb or head with every shot. The Astartes looked close to victory, when a new force joined the fray. With a crackle of sparks, a greater dæmon joined the battle. With a flick of its wrist, a maelstrom of psychic energy engulfed a squad of tactical marines. When the nimbus of light cleared, all that was left was bones and corroded armour. He saw himself load Vengeance rounds, and yell for all units to focus fire. Then he switched his bolter to his left hand, drew his chainsword, and charged. "For the Primarch! For humanity! For Terra!" and he charged, sending off volleys of bolt fire. He swung his blade at the monstrous being, and vanished in a blaze of energy. As the servitor watched, a multi-melta blast reduced the creature to vapour. But Tullius was nowhere to be seen. He returned to reality. "Get a Librarian. I must be scanned for Chaos taint. If I am tainted, there is a weakness in my fused-ribs here," he pointed to a spot under his breastplate, "from a training accident." his squadmates nodded, and they prepared to return to the Thunderhawk.

Raquel slid between two crates. She quickly found a crate of regulation uniforms, and located the latch. It slid open, and she crept inside. She left the door slightly open, and snuggled into a pile of khaki battle dress. It was going to be a long voyage.

"I swear, Mickey, I will genuinely kick your teeth in if you so much as ask me that one more time."

"C'mon, Jack, I know you have the hots for Adelina, so act on it! Hell, I reckon I know what she does in the middle of the…" a well-placed fist came between this thought and its vocalisation. Thump. "Ow!" Thump. Thump. Bam. Thump. Krunch.

"Clear of Chaos taint. Remarkable."

"Good. Now, when is my next deployment?"

"There's a planet being overrun by Tyranids. We are to cover evacuations, then leave and perform Exterminatus. It will be easy, no casualties are anticipated."

"You just invited disaster." said Cassius. Astamael looked confused.

"No, I did not. The statistics are clear. We will have Terminator plate, except for Tullius, who was not anticipated, and an effectively infinite supply of munitions. We will be defending against a swarm, using heavy weapons to vapourise the enemy, supported by local Militarum Tempestus and PDF regiments."

"Are they expected to take no casualties?" asked Tullius.

"They are unlikely to take any sort of major casualties until the defensive walls are breached. After that, they will be engaged in protracted close-quarters firefights against Tyranids. However, they will not falter much."

"Expected casualty percentages?"

"Thirty-seven percent for Tempestus, eighty-four percent for PDF."

"I will endeavour to lower those percentages."

"I know. Your intervention was factored in when we heard of your survival. Thirty for Tempestus, eighty-two for PDF."

"I will endeavour to reduce their casualties more."

"Very well."

Raquel stole a sandwich and some chocolate nutrient paste.

Tullius stepped onto the world's harsh soil. "I am going to deploy and take stock of the situation." he announced to the squad.

"Very well. We will meet with the Governor and General."

"Understood." he hefted his bolter. "Expect bureaucracy."

"Noted. Expect enemy artillery to concentrate on you."

"Understood." He reached the wall. "Everyone stand away from me. I am going to become a target for long-ranged heavy ordnance."

Raquel was slightly bored. She climbed into a Leman Russ when no-one was around and made engine noises.

Raquel dodged an imaginary sword-thrust, and twirled into a side kick. She might as well hone these new abilities.

 ** _Thank you, everyone who's put up with my erratic uploads thus far._**


	7. Chapter 7

_Two years later_

The transport ship _Faith unto Death_ touched down on the surface of the Shrine World, Lisox VII. Aboard, Raquel hauled herself out of an empty cargo crate. Donning a stolen Guard uniform, she ran over the tops of the cargo crates, and landed silently on the balls of her feet. She ducked around the fleet of armoured vehicles and gunships in the hold, dodging the brain-dead servitors that laboured to maintain them. Hundreds of troops were disembarking, and she slipped in among their ranks. She spotted a squad that looked friendly, and moved forward. Turning on her most friendly, wet between the ears smile, she walked up to the leader. "Excuse me, sir? Raquel Menzanez, assigned to this squad. Some sort of mistake in the Administratum, though, as my weapons aren't actually here." the sergeant groaned.

"Dammit. A rookie, wet between the ears, no combat experience, and no damned weapons."

"My apologies, sir. I promise to stay out of the way of your troops and understand that my presence may be an inconvenience." The sergeant looked rather shocked.

"Hell, no. You stay right next to Carson here, never leave his side. Learn what you can. How's your fitness?"

"Good, sir." Actually, it was incredible, unbeatable. She was weaker than she had been the time she fought Tullius, though. The very thought of him sent a spike of guilt through her chest. She didn't even know where he was now. Probably dead, for all she knew.

By all the laws of physics, logic, probability, and reality, Tullius should have been dead. _Emperor,_ he thought, _if you have saved my life now, why not just not let the building fall on my head in the first place?_ He could hear gunfire from above, as the rest of Squad Eternal Guidance held the line. A crunch sounded, and Veteran-brother Cassius ripped a slab of ferrocrete off him, and threw it at a Tervigon. The mighty terminator looked down. "Tullius, do stop lying down on the job." Of all of them, Cassius was likely the least mechanical. He used humour, a concept more or less alien to the rest of the squad, and found enjoyment in his existence. Astamael ran past, chanting in his deep, gravelly voice, storm bolter ripping Tyranids to shreds. Tullius gave a shrug.

"My legs will not move." Cassius nodded, and pulled more chunks of ferrocrete off his legs.

"Better?"

"Better."

Raquel jogged swiftly around the camp. Having been briefed on the situation-Chaos forces were in the system, bad things had happened, the general was an idiot-various tricks of the trade-shoot the Infantryman's Uplifting Primer repeatedly, avoid anything cooked by the natives, and do not under any circumstances mention seafood in front of Carson-and been given her equipment, in the form of a Triplex-pattern lasrifle, Accatran-pattern mark II laspistol, flak armour, a small tent, ration pack, medikit, and camo netting, she had gone for a run with all her equipment. She would have to do so in combat, after all. It was not difficult. She jogged past the commanding officer's tent, and then turned to sprint back to the area where her new squad had pitched their tents. From what she could tell, the squad she had inveigled herself within was a good group of people. The leader, Sergeant Molders, was a veteran of eighty seven combat deployments, a gruff man who had a cybernetic arm. Then, there was Jones, a young guy who had been promoted through merit alone, despite the fact that his father owned a big Manufactorium on some backwater hive world. He was the weapon specialist, wielding a variety of specialised guns. Then there was McCameron, the sniper. He didn't seem to like her, and from what she could tell, he wasn't particularly pleasant. Carson was the explosives expert, a big, beaming, exuberant man with a grenade launcher and a fatherly smile. However, as she had been told, any mention of seafood produced a negative reaction. Adelina Martinez, another woman from the Nox sector, carried the vox equipment, and was the only one with steady enough hands and low enough average blood alcohol to be allowed to carry explosives out of combat. The others stayed sober most of the time, but kept enough liquid courage in them to not pee themselves before each battle. They said it, specifically Millanian Brandy, was what kept them alive.

"What is that beverage?" Tullius asked the group of guardsmen. They went to fall on their knees, but he waved away their supplication. They looked confused, then answered.

"Polvudian ale, lord. Keeps us alive." Curious. These soldiers, veterans of many wars, should have been aware of the debilitating effect alcohol had on combat efficiency, but they continued to imbibe such substances. Strange. A servo-skull whirred up to him, a roll of paper hanging down from small, stubby claws. He took the scroll, and read. _Veteran-brother Tullius, of the Iron Hands first company, is hereby ordered to report to the Most Renowned Inquisitor Seveyrali of His Holiness the Emperor's most noble Inquisition. Message ends._ Tullius returned the scroll to the skull, and followed it away from the group of guardsmen. As he walked away, he heard one of them speak. "And I thought those Space Marines were meant to be a bunch of ice cold bastards."

Tullius found Most Renowned Inquisitor Seveyrali of His Holiness the Emperor's most noble Inquisition to be a profoundly objectionable individual. Everything, from the gilt cloak, to the gold inlays on his heavily ornamented power armour, to his immensely engraved helmet with a ridiculously gaudy plume that sat beside him, to the useless paste jewels on his weapon, a sword with a curvy blade that would likely snap under a proper blow, offended the Astartes. A regular fabric cloak held no purpose in open combat, power armour needed very little ornamentation and even less embellishment, and a sword was a sharp piece of metal meant for swiftly reducing your enemy's body mass. Simple as that. Any iconography on armour needed to either glorify the God-Emperor, have a function, or both. Tullius' opinion was that the God-Emperor of Mankind probably didn't want his most loyal agents to wear armour depicting their greatest victories, bravely cutting down retreating Gretchin having hidden behind a large tank for the whole battle. "Ah, Veteran-Brother Tullius," said the odious individual with what was meant to be a mysterious and noble voice, but which came out as the voice of a man trying to speak round a ridiculously large gorget, which it was, "I have been waiting for you." A servo-skull flew up, and projected an image on the wall. It was a face. "I understand you have had experience with this mutant." Tullius lost his voice momentarily. The odds of her being alive had been ninety-seven billion, eight hundred and twenty two million, four thousand, seven hundred and ninety-two to one against.

"Yes."

"She has attracted the distinct interest of several high-ranking Adeptus Mechanicus Magos Biologis Genetors. Her unique genetic code could, if replicated, significantly improve our genetic modifications." Tullius looked around at the three members of the Inquisitorial retinue who stood around the tent.

"What would you have me do?"

"Accompany me, apprehend a _dangerous_ mutant, and aid the Imperium of Man." The third would be easy. It was his duty. The second, possible from strategic, practical and logistical standpoints, if not emotional and moral. That left only one problem. He would have to work, live, _sleep_ in relatively close proximity to that profoundly odious man.


	8. Chapter 8

The rookie was still doing press ups in full gear. Beads of sweat had started forming on her brow around the twenty-seventh repetition. She made it to thirty-five, and collapsed. Two minutes rest, then she started doing sit-ups. Forty. Rest. Then she began calibrating her weapon sights. Again. Her hands worked busily, aligning the iron sights neatly with a bottle of ale mounted on a piece of metal she had salvaged from the scrapyard, a grave of battle tanks. She then put the weapon down. It had been an hour since she had started this strange regime of total focus. Molders, watching from the sidelines, thought this odd. A few landing pads were still active, and the sound of various troopships bringing back troops from the ship's that brought them back from the front lines on Lisox IX was remarkably loud, but Menzanez didn't seem perturbed. She stood up, put her weapon away, and began doing more press ups. Jones came to stand beside him. "She still at it?" Molders nodded. "Man, that lady is a machine." Molders nodded.

"I reckon it's a coping thing. You know, I get a bit over the limit, you go pick up chicks from seventh platoon, Carson works on his reports, McCameron does…"he thought for a second, "whatever he does, Adelina has her maps, and the Rookie does this." Raquel began running. Again. As she powered off into the distance, Carson walked up.

"She still at it?"

"Yup."

"Man, she is a frigging machine."

"Yup."

Raquel returned to the camp at twenty-one-thirty local time, and set up her tent. Jones, Adelina, Molders and McCameron were sitting on the ground. Adelina was talking. "I swear, that's what I heard. We're moving to the front in two days."

"Look, just because the Vox said it when you turned it to a random frequency, doesn't mean it's true." That was Jones speaking.

"I swear, it said that. Sounded just like the general, too."

"Bollocks." That was Molders speaking. "It's not enough time to train the rookie, not enough time to sort our weapons completely, probably not even enough to check all our rations are up to scratch." Raquel walked into the circle.

"When are we deploying?"

"Two days from now." Adelina answered.

"Cojones. How are we meant to get our gear sorted in that time?"

"Not to mention not enough time to get you combat ready." Molders' bottle of brandy exploded. "Hey!" Raquel smiled wolfishly, and spun her laspistol before returning it to the holster.

"Oh, I'm combat ready." Molders stood up.

"Let's see." he then turned to Adelina. "How's about we take Raquel along to the wargames."

"You got her modifier?"

"Well, duh."

Raquel hurried along after the squad, her lasrifle slung on a strap over her shoulder. The squad entered a wood. They walked for a few minutes, then the trees cleared and the whole company was there. The Captain was handing out orders. "Standard Red vs Blue! Blue start beyond the treeline, Red out at the rocks! CTF, all move! Oh, Molders! Brought the Rookie, I see."

"Yes, sir. What team?"

"You take blue. Now, go, go, go!" Instantly both sides of the clearing burst into movement. Raquel and her squad were running, along with half the Company, to the other side of the treeline. One guy pushed the flag into the ground, but another slapped him and put it up a tree.

"Jeez, Gallagher, holding this position's gonna be enough of a bitch without putting the flag in plain view."

"Sorry." the man who had slapped him turned to Molders.

"Hey, Jack. You brought the Rookie?"

"Yup." He turned to Raquel. "This is Sergeant Mickey, the Company recruiting officer." Mickey was a medium height guy, with an easy smile and quite short hair.

"Heya, Rookie."

"My name's Raquel."

"Right. What's your sexuality?" Raquel gave a start.

"Que mierda?"

"Huh?"

"What. The. Fuck."

"Oh. Nothing weird, it's just that chick over there, the one from twelfth platoon, is a lesbian and I got five Thrones on her hooking up with someone by the end of this campaign. Do you like girls?" Raquel thought for a second.

"I repeat my earlier question. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" She wasn't usually the sort of person to curse a lot, but she felt the situation warranted it. Molders spoke up.

"Mickey. That is really. Really. Pervy."

"Sorry. Still, does she?"

"You know, I will shoot you. I will shoot you in the liver."

"Go ahead. We already put modifiers on."

"Bollocks." Raquel spoke up.

"What are we meant to be doing?" Molders turned to her.

"Capture the flag. It starts in ten minutes, and we have that long to set up our defences."

"Right. And what are modifiers? Do I need one?"

"Modifiers are just a reduction in power for your lasgun. Now a las round will sting, but not kill. Adelina already put yours on. If you get shot, you're out."

"Right. So do we actually set up defences?"

"Yep. Billy! Jimbo!" Two small heads poked down from the tree canopy.

"What? Asked the uglier one.

"Get your stuff set up!"

"Done!" Molders turned to her.

"Voila. Defences. Two Ratlings. We'll have two guys next to the flag, using a bit of cover, but these guys are enough to repel anything except a full team attack."

"What do I do?"

"Why, you, little lady, take that lady over there, the one from twelfth platoon, and go over to the grove I found earlier with the flowers that emit a powerful natural aphrodisiac." Mickey spoke before Molders could reply. Molders elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Don't listen to him. You're going to the stream to the south. You are taking the lady from twelfth platoon, though."

"Serioso?"

"I don't speak Spanish. Take the lady from twelfth, and flank the enemy. Avoid the puce flowers."

Raquel and twelfth platoon lady crept downstream. Raquel broke the silence. "Mickey had a bet on you."

"That guy pisses me off."

"You don't even know what the bet was."

"You are a girl, I am a lesbian, he is a perv, I can guess what the bet was."

"Okay then, what was it?"

"Whether I would hook up with someone by the end of the campaign. Small bet, double or nothing with a new recruit. Ask him. I'm right."

"Five thrones bet."

"Nailed it."

"How did you know that?"

"Simple. Mickey runs a small gambling ring along with Billy and Jimbo, usually centring around relationships between various people. He ropes you in by offering a small-stakes bet with double or nothing odds on a pretty certain bet. The newbie loses, enraging them, and they take another crack at it. I am that bet."

"So you think it's likely you'll hook up with someone during the campaign?"

"That is statistically likely." silence for a minute.

"I'm Raquel."

"Ana." She pronounced it An-ya.

"How did you figure out about the bet?"

"I just told you."

"But, how do you do that?"

"I'm clever." she then looked slightly awkward. "At least, I think so."

"So, which side of the bet is Mickey on?"

"He wants me to 'get laid' as he says, so that he can win his bet. Also, he is a profoundly hormonally charged individual. The thought of us 'getting it on' likely rather…spruces up his free time. Really, I think it's not much of a bet in his favour. I mean, I've never actually had a girlfriend before."

"I like this guy less by the second."

"Agreed. Ten seconds to target destination."

"Oh." Raquel readied her lasgun, checking the modifier was firmly in place. Ana did the same. The sounds of gunfire as the Blue main force attacked the Red flag sounded loudly. Ana moved up behind a tree, and Raquel did the same. Raquel peeked around the tree. Ana did the same. Then they popped out and started blasting. Two of the reds got hit, and shouted to their teammates, but by the time they had reacted, Ana was set to full auto and strafing the enemy. Raquel began running under the withering barrage, blasting the two guards with precise double taps. She grabbed the flag.

"Victory!" The Captain blew the whistle, and all the teams stopped. Ana, Molders, Adelina, McCameron, Carson and Jones ran up to congratulate her. "Well, I couldn't have got there without Ana covering me."

"We all know you enjoy her covering you!" shouted Mickey. She flipped him the bird. She couldn't really be angry right now, though. She was too happy. "We know you like her making you all sticky!" She thrust the flag towards Ana.

"Hold this for me."

The squad returned to the tents laughing and smiling. "That was priceless!" Guffawed Carson.

"Hilarious!" Laughed Molders.

"Brilliant!" Grinned Adelina.

"I hate you all!" Shouted a wet, muddy, foul-smelling Mickey from his squad's camping area.


	9. Chapter 9

**_I am so sorry about the wait, so here are two chapters._**

Tullius stepped aboard the Inquisitorial vessel _Pious Vigilance._ A serf greeted him, and directed him to his quarters. They were lavish, ripe with strange perfumes, decked in cushions, and offended him in every sense of the word. He opened his bag, a simple bag, and pulled out a simple insulated sleeping bag, which he laid on the floor, making sure to move the carpet out of the way first. He then walked to the bridge. The Inquisitor was there. Decked in fancy robes, he continued to irk Tullius. The shipmaster introduced himself as Jorik Bjargborn, a Kaerl, before ordering a Warp transition. Besides Tullius, he seemed to be the only sensible person of power on the bridge. The two members of the Inquisitorial retinue were dressed in fancy cloaks and tight britches that left very little doubt as to their genital girth. Tullius noted it to be distinctly below average in both cases. "Helm!" Shouted the Inquisitor, "take us out!" the ship turned, and began powering forward.

The Arjute-class heavy troop transport _Eternity of Service_ soared through space. "No, no, no!" Yelled Raquel Menzanez. "I won't! You can't make me!"

"Aw, c'mon! You might like it!" Said Mickey. Raquel's squad, Ana, and the two ratlings, Billy and Jimbo, looked on. Billy turned to Jimbo.

"Ten thrones says she rips out that dangly thing at the back of his throat."

"I'll take that action."

"Two to one."

"Done." Raquel was looking like she was close to winning the bet for Billy.

"Ana and I are not sleeping together! We never have, and we will not sleep together on camera! EVER!"

"Fine. You win. But I still have a chance at winning that bet!"

"Hasta la vista, douchebag." Mickey stormed off, and Billy and Jimbo followed on, arguing about the legitimacy of Billy's currency. Ana gave a sort of pained half smile.

"That guy just doesn't quit." Molders spoke up.

"No, he doesn't."

"Like, ever." Added Jones. Then, a voice sounded over the vox-casters.

"All troops, prepare for atmospheric impact followed by deployment to secondary battle line. Enemy capture of a defense laser complex makes anything other than a hard landing unfeasible, brace for impact." then the atmospheric impact impacted. The force of a spacecraft travelling at hundreds of miles per hour striking a barrier of air that, briefly, was as tough as any Adamantium or Ceramite, jarred them all to the bones. Ana, lighter than most, was sent stumbling. Jones was knocked almost off his feet. The rest of the squad grabbed a hold of the nearest thing they could find. Molders and Adelina happened to grab hold of each other. They then realised their mistake and grabbed the handles on the walls. There was a sound of a barrier being breached, a loud protest of warped heat shielding breaking away, and a clang that jarred every single one of them to their very cores. "Landing successful." Announced the vox-caster.

"Bloody hell," Announced Molders. "If that was a landing, what'd you suppose a crash looks like?"

The army disembarked. The armour of the 22nd Mechanised Regiment exited first, attended to by a group of Enginseers. The armour consisted of one hundred Leman Russ battle tanks of various marks, two Macharius Vulcan super-heavy tanks, eight mighty Basilisk artillery guns, a Baneblade super-heavy tank, innumerable Chimeras, and thirty Sentinel walkers. Next came the infantry. Headed up by the veterans, they advanced in formation, all 20,000 of them, the combined forces of the 23rd, 42nd, and 97th Nox Regiments. The sound of marching boots was deafening. A flight of Valkyrie and Vendetta gunships flew overhead, adding their engine noise to the mighty sound. A crowd had gathered to watch. Raquel felt profoundly uncomfortable. She was sandwiched in between McCameron and a stony faced man she didn't know, and while she knew that this was the secondary battle line, she still felt weird, like something bad was about to happen. Her nose moved slightly, and she sniffed. She wasn't sure why. She could smell explosives. She sniffed again. She could smell fear, sweat, anxiety. She could smell the sickly sweet smell of sickness. More explosives. She looked around. One guy, about five tanks behind her, was wearing a rebreather and a trench coat. The planet was warm and dry, and the air was as clear as it could be. She sniffed again. All the smells were coming from him. No one else seemed to have noticed. She looked around. No one had an Autogun or Autopistol. No one had grenades. No explosives anywhere near. The man reached for the clasp on his respirator. He undid it. His face was a sickly shade of green. He reached into his trench coat pocket. Pulled out a detonator. _Shit._ She tackled McCameron to the ground. "BOMB! BOMB! BOMB!" Then the bomb went off. The man exploded in a shower of gore and bile, taking the twenty or so guardsmen in his area with him. Raquel was on the edge of the blast, but still felt her ears burst, her teeth rattle, her brain quite literally shaking around inside her skull. There was a brief silence. Then the screams started.

"Shit!" She heard Molders yelling. "Shit, shit, shit! Adelina! Jones! Carson! You guys alright?" general sounds of assent. "Where are McCameron and the Rookie?"

"Here!" Shouted Raquel.

"Here!" Shouted McCameron. Molders ran up. Blood ran in a steady trickle from a gash above his eye.

"You all right?"

"Yeah."

"Define 'all right'," said McCameron. Raquel looked around.

"Have you guys seen Mickey or Ana?" Molders answered.

"I saw them a few minutes ago. A few ranks behind us...Oh, _shit._ " Raquel stood up, wobbling slightly as her eardrums were shot to hell.

"We have to find them." she started running, dodging round bodies and bits of bodies. She found Ana caring for a man who had had his leg blown off below the knee.

"It's ok. You'll get fixed up with a proper augmetic and be able to live out your life just as well." She then, without warning, held a red hot piece of metal to the wound, perfectly cauterising it. The man screamed. She pulled the piece of metal away. He started whimpering.

"Emperor...Emperor...Emperor...Emperor…" Ana stood up as she saw Raquel approaching.

"Have you seen Mickey?" Asked Raquel.

"He was well out of the blast zone. Last-minute transfer. Should be all right."

"What about you? You were only a few ranks away from that bastard."

"Lucky, I guess."

"Why did he even do that?"

"Chaos. It drives people to insanity and beyond. Makes them do terrible things." her eyes clouded over, as though reliving some terrible event. Raquel didn't notice.

"It does." Molders and the captain walked past, trying to talk some sense into the Company Commissar.

"Commissar, attacking now is foolish. We need to consolidate our position in the city." Said the captain.

"A moment of laxity spawns a lifetime of heresy!" Said the Commissar.

"This cult will cut off our supplies at the roots if allowed to continue existing." Said Molders.

"The Emperor's light is my torch!" Announced the Commissar.

"Yes, sir, but what about bolt rounds? Grenades? Food?" asked the Captain.

"Wield the Emperor's truth as your shield, and His will as your sword!"

"Sir, that's all very well, but you can't fight battle tanks with a metaphorical sword and shield!"

"Heresy! The Emperor is no metaphor! He is the Sovereign of Mankind!"

"Of course he is," said Molders, calm, like talking to a wild animal, "I was just saying he might have more important things to focus his power on than a single humble servant of Mankind. Even an army might be beneath his notice, which is why we cannot count on his aid, which is why we must keep our supply lines running." the Commissar seemed to accept this. From what Raquel had gathered, he was the most pious individual in the whole Regiment, but was none too bright.

"Yes. Yes, that is a good idea. We must keep the supply lines open. Now, how do we do that?" Molders discreetly looked to Raquel and shrugged, like _well,_ _what can you do?_ He then hurried to catch up with the Captain and the Commissar. For a sergeant, he certainly enjoyed a lot of respect from his superiors. Raquel turned back to Ana.

"How are your squad?" Ana gestured to the man on the ground whose leg she had just cauterized.

"He's all that's left."

"I'm so sorry." Ana gave a sad little smile.

"I didn't know them that well. I got put in their squad because the Administratum messed up. I had no equipment or anything."

"Me too." Ana cracked a smile at the coincidence, despite the tragedy. Ana looked around.

"I reckon we'll be off the front lines for a while with all of this. Definitely on cult suppression."

"Attention!" Shouted the Commissar, "I have come to the decision that we should remain here and keep our supply lines open! Also, for those of you who are no longer a part of viable squads please report to Sergeant Michael for reassignment." _Michael?_ Raquel suddenly knew exactly where Ana was going to get reassigned. _Michael=Mickey?_ Yeah. She knew exactly where.


	10. Chapter 10

_**This was kinda messy before, so I've cleaned it up.**_

"No tent? Why don't you have a tent?" Asked Raquel, as politely as possible. Ana shrugged.

"Mysteriously went missing around the same time as I got transferred. Funny how these things happen, isn't it?"

"I swear, I will actually kill Mickey one of these days."

"I'll help you." Ana's tone was deadly serious, but her eyes laughed. Very nice eyes they were, too. All green and blue and inviting. Raquel realised she hadn't really looked at Ana yet. Her face was well-proportioned, with those eyes just above her nose, which was a tiny bit longer than the norm. Above the eyes was a short army cut of pure white hair. Below the eyes was a pair of thin lips, pale pink. Her chin was just about as long as her nose, and stood just above a nice, shapely neck, which in turn stood above a nicely proportioned pair of...Hang on, am I checking her out? She thought to herself. Yeah, I am. She was not against homosexuality, but the thought of developing an attachment to someone triggered deeply rooted instincts. Stay away. She might be dead by tomorrow.

Shut up, she told herself.

"Right," she said, "so, ah, I'll go and get the tent sorted."

"Ok," said Ana, companionably, "I'll go get the rest of my kit." Raquel went to get the tent set up. Ok, now what are you going to do? Asked her inner voice.

Go and fix that bloody leak, she thought back.

The sun began to set. "Damn it." Announced Ana stridently. "No pyjamas. Apparently that kitbag has mysteriously gone missing."

"Cojones." Raquel didn't feel like saying that. "Me either. Just vanished."

"I am actually going to hit him next time I see him." No question about who 'he' was.

"Where?"

"Quicker to ask, 'where am I not going to hit him.'"

"Well, I won't peek." Raquel's tone was playful. She smiled. Ana grinned.

"I won't either. Still, you are kinda pretty." She sort of half blushed then, and turned away. Raquel quickly stripped down and climbed into bed. Her heart did a little fluttery Fandango. She closed her eyes, and heard Ana climbing into the tent next to her. She awkwardly snuggled into her sleeping bag, and was snoring in minutes. Raquel was close behind.

"Awright, maggots, up and at 'em! We got a day fulla fun, fun, fun waiting for us, butchering cultists!"

"Tell me that's not Sergeant Poplar." Said Ana. She stood up, and left the tent, holding her sleeping bag around her. Raquel followed. It was indeed Sergeant Poplar, the tall, broad, bat-crap crazy man who had once hit his commanding officer in the face for ordering him to have the shredded stump of his left leg amputated rather than hopping towards the Tyranid responsible and bludgeoning it to death. He now looked weird, smelt of blood and had a walk which went step-whir-clunk. Massive scars bisected his chest, which he claimed had been performed by a chainsword-wielding cultist before he beat the man's skull in with the butt of his rifle. When asked why he did not simply shoot the man, his response was recorded to have been: 'well, if it ain't meant as a club, why's it blunt?'. ignoring various catcalls and wolf-whistles, Raquel and Ana stepped back into the tent to dress. Ana looked away while Raquel pulled on shirt, trousers and body armour, and vice versa. They then walked out of the tent, picked up their lasrifles, and went to find Molders. They found him clearing mud out of his augmetic with a long piece of metal wire. He fished around a little longer, hooked a few more chunks of mud, and turned to look at them.

"Hey."

"Hello."

"Hola."

"Right, Ana. How's your aim?"

"Good."

"Fitness?"

"Alright."

"Good. I think we're gonna get along just fine. We're on duty here. Taking down cultists as they pop up. We're moving down to the underhive." Raquel and Ana both nodded.

They trod on broken glass. A window was broken, a store window, and its remains littered the street. Fortunately, their combat boots were more than up to the task. Raquel scanned the area with her rifle, watching the rooftops. Ana tapped her arm. "Perfect ambush spot. Keep sides. Pass it on." She did, and the whole squad moved closer to the walls, ready to get into shops and houses for cover. No one doubted that Ana was right.

"Movement," Said Jones, "rooftop up ahead." Carson readied his grenade launcher. Five figures stepped into view.

"Cut them down!" Shouted one. A heavy bolter burst into life on the second floor of the building, and the squad dived into cover. Molders, Raquel and Carson were on the right of the street, and the others were on the left.

"McCameron!" Shouted Molders.

"No shot!" Carson readied his grenade launcher, but a burst of auto rounds convinced him he was better off where he was.

"All enemies topside have autoguns!" Shouted Ana.

"How do you know that?" Asked Raquel. Ana's response was overshadowed by a burst of gunfire. Raquel turned to Molders.

"Draw their fire, I have a plan."

"What plan, and how do I do that?"

"I'll run along there and get in that building." She pointed to a building opposite her. The lowest window was three metres up. "Then I'll run through it to there, where I'll jump to the building with the enemies in." The jump was two metres. "Then, I'll shut off the heavy bolter." Molders looked confused.

"How are you going to do that, and how am I going to draw their fire?"

"Trust me. As for drawing their fire, use your imagination." Molders gave a slow, confused nod. He looked around. He then, using the superior strength of his augmetic, ripped a chunk of ferrocrete out of the shop wall. Holding it like a shield, he stepped out into the street.

"Hey, arsehats! You suck!" Instantly, the slab shuddered under the force of the rounds. Raquel moved fast, sprinting towards the building. She placed one foot on the wall, and started moving up it without breaking stride. She pulled herself through the window, and landed on the floor of the corridor. Giving herself half a second to catch her breath, she started running, noting the size of the window at the end. Not big enough. She threw a Krak grenade, and burst through the cloud of dust. Time stayed still. Perfectly still. Her stomach flip-flopped slightly, and she burst through the window across the street. The heavy bolter was about five metres away. She ran along until she came to it. Two cultists operated it. Both were out cold in seconds. She kicked the bulky gun, and it fell out of the window. She then heard a volley of Lasgun shots, and saw the bodies of three enemy soldiers fall out of the window. Molders, Ana and Adelina had taken the shots. Ana sent off two more rounds, and Raquel heard two bodies hit a roof. Raquel climbed out of the window, and dropped down, rolling to break her fall. She jogged up to them Carson ran up, and seized her in a mighty bear hug.

"That was bloody amazing!" he shouted happily. Adelina grinned.

"Awesome!" Molders gave her a hearty handshake. McCameron looked vaguely impressed. Jones clapped her on the back. Ana walked up. They gave each other a hug. Then, Raquel saw something out of the corner of her eye. One of the cultists she had knocked out. He had stood up, and was aiming an Autopistol out of the window. At Ana. No time to warn the others. He fired. She shoved Ana out of the way, and took three rounds to the left of her stomach. Just above the hip.

"Bollocks," she said faintly, and collapsed. Carson turned, and fired a frag grenade in through the window. The man was blown apart. Molders quickly picked up Raquel.

"We have to get her back to base."


	11. Chapter 11

Raquel lay still. A dark room. Tubes. No pain. Someone by the bed. A lot of someones. Ana. Molders. Jones. Adelina. Carson. McCameron. She slowly sat up. No pain. "Doctor! I think she's waking up!" Announced Adelina. The doctor, a small man, came and took her pulse.

"Yes, very good," he said, "very svift recovery. Remarkable. Vell, you are discharged. I see no veason to keep you here." Raquel slowly stood up.

"How long was I out?"

"Appvoximately a veek. Quite remarkable, for three shots to ze external oblique."

"Right." She turned to the others. "Shall we?"

Tullius pulled himself from the wreckage. It had been going quite smoothly. The _Pious Vigilance_ had been swooping through the Warp, Gellar field nominal, when something-a bolt of energy perhaps-had burst through and obliterated the Warp Engines. Pouring with black smoke and flares of plasma from malfunctioning drives, it had smashed into the atmosphere of the nearest planet. Now, it lay in ruins. Tullius fished around for a weapon. There could be feral Orks, hostile indigenous species, or dæmons from the crash. He found a bolter a few metres away, sticking up out of a pile of metal scrap. It had a full clip of engraved Psy-bolts. He readied himself, scanned the area down the iron sights, and moved out. He had been walking for a few minutes when he came to a torso sticking up out of a pile of destroyed instrumentation. It was a woman. On closer inspection, it transpired that a falling stanchion had struck her. Her head had caved in like an eggshell. He said a brief prayer for her soul, and moved on. And so it went on, him finding corpses scattered around. Then he heard a voice. "Help me! I cannot move my leg!" _Hang on. Do I know that voice?_ He did. Tullius wrestled with his common sense for a while, but finally started walking towards the Inquisitor's voice.

"A Human ship has crashed. Shall we approach the crash site?"

"Wait until all survivors are in one place. We shall reap them as one."

Tullius pulled a protesting Inquisitor from the rubble. "Let me go! DAMN you! I will not stand for this!" Tullius set him down.

"That area of rubble is structurally unsound. You were ten minutes at most away from sudden death by sliding Adamantium. And you did request help. I can return you to the pile if you wish." The Inquisitor made a face that suggested the sudden ingestion of concentrated acid.

"Very well...I thank you. Now, we must depart. I shall return to Inquisitorial command and request a new ship and crew."

"What? First of all, you have a mission. It must be done. Also, your crew and retinue may yet be alive." The Inquisitor made a dismissive gesture.

"Replaceable. Now, we really must depart. That is an order."

 _I have an order._

 _I have my honour._ He turned, and walked off. "Where are you going? I gave you a direct order!"

"I overrode it. Now, I am going to go and search for survivors. You may do as you choose." He had made it twenty of his mighty paces before the Inquisitor was scurrying up to him, looking much diminished. Within another ten paces, the Inquisitor was back to his old, unrepentant self.

They(that is, Tullius, while Seveyrali sat on a chunk of metal,) found about twenty survivors. Gun crew, mostly, but Jorik Bjargborn had also survived. The Inquisitor walked up to Bjargborn. "What was that? I should never have trusted a Kaerl with a ship!" The big man looked furious, but held his temper in place.

"The fact that I am a Kaerl made no difference, sir. The fact that a bolt of energy from the Warp breached first a well-maintained Gellar field and then several metres of Steel and Adamantium plating was a factor in the downfall of the vessel. Not my skill. However, if you could have avoided the crash, I would gladly go back in time and allow you control of the _Pious Vigilance_." The Inquisitor fumed. The Kaerl was speaking with pure logic, and his logic made sense. The fact that he stood a full head and shoulders above the Imperial Agent may have been a factor as well. Seveyrali stalked away to stand next to Tullius.

"Expect repercussions upon our return to Imperial space." He spat. Tullius turned to him.

"Shipmaster Bjargborn did his duty. The incident was a random Warp anomaly, not pilot error. Your accusations are unjustified."

"What do you know?" The Inquisitor rounded on him. Here was a target for his verbal attack that could not strike back. "You know nothing! You and all your kind are good for nothing except _fighting_ and _dying._ Nothing! You have no culture, no technology of your own, and the only reason you were ever created was because the Emperor needed you."

"He still needs us. And so do you. So stop insulting one of the strongest defence you have against the danger in the galaxy. It is illogical." for once, he let the innate air of intimidation and raw, unadulterated violence he possessed spill out. The Inquisitor shrunk back. "Now, we must find a way off this planet." And that, of course, was when a hole opened in the air and shadowy figures dropped through. Tullius spun around, raising his bolter. Dark Eldar. A raid. He fired without hesitation, three lithe, fragile figures blasted apart in seconds. Their armour offered no protection, but the lack of weight offered them great speed. He was faster. A trio of jagged shards imbedded themselves in his breastplate, which he ignored, and another few struck his helmet. He fired again, the bolt punching straight through the helmet of a warrior, bursting out of the other side of his head, and embedding itself in the flank of a warrior before detonating. The xenos' torso and stomach were reduced to shreds of flesh. Two Dark Eldar Wyches jumped on him. He drove his elbow backwards, the pile-driver force crushing a skull. The other stabbed him. He felt the blade, cold and sharp, penetrate his shoulder, but it met his shoulder blade and stopped. The Wych had put so much force into the blow that she was staggered by the sudden impact. A deadly error. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed her head, and squeezed. Acidic blood and brain matter splattered on his armour. By now, all the others had fallen. They appeared to be unconscious. He swiftly shot two more Dark Eldar dead with easy precision, and his Bolter clicked dry. He threw it, striking a Kabalite Warrior and knocking the unfortunate xenos down. He kicked out hard, crumpling a chest like wet cardboard. Then he felt a sting in the back of his neck. The world blurred. He struck out one more time. One more skull crumpled. He collapsed.

"Come on! Move out!" Shouted Molders. Raquel ducked away from a stream of Las-fire. The rookies on the other side of the street didn't move out.

"I prefer my head where it is!" Shouted the Sergeant, a trumped-up little squirt who was a Sergeant because his Uncle owned a big Genatorium.

"Not like he uses it for much anyway," muttered Ana. Raquel grinned. McCameron readied his sniper rifle, and fired up the street. A scream echoed off the walls.

"That's one!" He shouted, "no, wait, he's still alive. Bollocks. Just a sec." Another sniper shot. "Nailed it!" The sniper's constant commentary was starting to get annoying.

"McCameron! Stop talking and shoot!" She yelled. They, along with the ten-man squad of rookies, had been advancing down a street in pursuit of a few Tzeentch cultists when what seemed like a whole cult had popped up out of a building. Half the rookies had been cut down in seconds, and the others were not helping. At all. They hadn't even passed Carson some ammo. Ana took advantage of the enemy autocannon-wielding cultist pausing to reload to spin out of cover and throw a grenade. The cultists dived out of the way, but one wasn't quick enough. She was blasted apart. The others had now lost the initiative. Jones and Adelina simultaneously vaulted the chunk of rubble they were using as cover, and Jones used his flamer. Two cultists were caught in the plume of fire, and died swiftly. Adelina sent off a burst of rounds, striking a cultist in the upper torso. He went down. Raquel drew her knife and laspistol. She charged. She squeezed off two shots on the move, dropping a cultist with a shotgun. Another cultist sent off a burst of fire from an Autopistol, but she dodged around the stream of metal. Jumping, she drove her knife down. It passed through the gap behind the man's collarbone. Jones and Adelina had retreated back to cover. The cultists were now as good as dead, so there was no sense in wasting ammo. The autocannon-wielding cultist spun to face her, but she leapt high up, and landed almost on top of him. She stabbed him in the head. She had far fewer qualms about killing since the man she had knocked out had shot her. Within the next half minute, it was all over. Adelina and Molders pushed up, and concluded that there were no more cultists. The rookies slowly stood up, shaking slightly. They looked at Raquel like she was some sort of demon. She ignored them. She had an advantage, nothing more. However, it was an advantage that would get her vivisected or worse, so she could not tell anyone about the origin of her preternatural skill.


	12. Chapter 12

Tullius felt the Dark Eldar skimmer slide to a halt. He had been lying here for half an hour at the least, beneath a thin, black sheet of some unknown material. He was hauled to his feet. He was surprised the slim xenos could even lift him. Still under the sheet, he was led along...Somewhere. He tried to move his hands. He could not. He felt weak and powerless. It was an unusual feeling. He heard doors open, big ones by the sound of the hinges, and was pushed to his knees. Words. He listened in. "And so, of course, we knew that we would have to bring such a _marvellous_ prize to your gloriousness immediately. Of course, such a bounty could not be gained without risk, but…" the words were strange, both honeyed and possessed of a raw acid. Another voice cut them off.

"Yes, I care not. Show me the slaves." The cloth was removed, and Tullius looked around. All but one of the gun crew was alive and there, as was Jorik and Seveyrali. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or disappointed about the last one. He then, with all the dignity his wounded, bleeding state would allow, looked at his captors. "Yes, very good. Marvellous. Send that one, that one, and that one," he pointed to three gun crew, "to the Haemonculi, and select another four at random for the Warp Beasts. You may have another five to share between yourself and your surviving Warriors. The rest you may leave with me. I will keep the big human from the ice world, and the snivelling fool, so you may not choose those ones for yourselves. Eliath!" So Bjargborn and Seveyrali were safe for now. A female figure slinked up to the throne. Tullius didn't see her for some time. Truth be told, he had been trying not to look at the throne and the whole area around it. The figure on it sent chills twirling and skating down his spine. The general characteristics were that of a Dark Eldar leader known as an Archon. He had only seen one once before. On a battlefield, down the sights of his sniper rifle, during his days as an Initiate. He had fired a single shot, but it had not even hurt it. It had turned to him, and even though he had been well hidden, he had known it had seen him. The female figure spoke. The voice was silky smooth, and it seemed to flow around him, invading his mind through his ears.

"Yes?" That one word seemed to make the Archon more relaxed.

"Ah, yes, Eliath. You may take the Astartes. You may do what you wish, but I want to see an Astartes in the arena within three realspace weeks." The woman nodded.

" _Any_ thing you desire." she then turned to Tullius. "You are to come with me." Tullius could do nothing as he was led away.

Raquel couldn't sleep. She had grown quite used to the tent she had shared with Ana, but the heavy rainfall and high winds on the planet, as well as the rapidly dwindling population, meant that the regiment had been moved into individual apartment blocks. It was comfier, but she missed the quiet conversations they had shared about very little when they weren't too tired to speak from the endless little skirmishes. She shoved her face down into the pillow. A tap at the window. She looked up suddenly. Ana was outside her window. She gave a slight smile, and went over to the latch. Ana tumbled into the room. She was soaking wet, and looked like she was freezing. "You know, they invented doors quite a long time ago," said Raquel, helping Ana to her feet. Ana was breathing heavily.

"Cultists. My room. Knives. Not sure how they got in. Snuck out the window. Help." Raquel's heart hardened.

"Wait here." Adrenaline was already starting to pulse through her veins. "Lock the door." She then left, melting into the shadows with barely a sound. She swiftly moved along the corridor, stopping outside Ana's room. There were voices inside. Three. Wait, four. Deep voices. Deep meant big. She readied herself. Bursting through the door, she was met with a brutal thrust from a cultist who was quicker than his compatriots. She dodged the thrust, and drove a knee into his groin. He keeled over, moaning. His fellow worshippers of Chaos attacked. She dispatched one with a spinning jump kick to the face, and landed on the balls of her feet. The other two slashed at her, but she dodged with a neat back handspring, her toes catching one under the chin. He staggered back, dazed, and she spun around, striking one in the throat with a knife hand. He dropped like a rock. The last one threw his knife. It slashed along her right bicep. She gave a grunt of pain, feeling blood begin to flow, and sucker punched him with her left arm. She the kicked him, hard, in the stomach, then the chest, then the neck. She felt his neck snap. Cradling her wounded arm, she began to walk back to her room.

Ana was still there. As Raquel staggered into the room, Ana was by her side. "What happened to your arm? You need a bandage!"

"Knife. Last cultist. Three knockouts, one dead. Bandage sounds good." The surgeon was likely asleep, and any medical supplies were locked away, so Ana ran through into the toilet to find some paper to soak up the blood. Raquel applied pressure to the wound until Ana returned with paper.

"Take off your shirt, I need to get a proper look at the wound." Raquel tried to pull off the loose cotton shirt she had worn to bed, but one arm just didn't cut it. Ana kneeled down to help her. She pulled the shirt off gently, trying not to hurt her squadmate, but Raquel still winced slightly when the cotton fabric brushed the wound. It was a nasty gash, about half a centimetre deep and quite long. Ana held the paper to the wound, but the flow of blood had already slowed down. Curious, she took the paper off. The wound was now thinning, and was now just a thin red line, scarcely bigger than a paper cut. Before her very eyes, it closed over. Raquel looked at her.

"I can explain this."

"So you're a mutant." Ana was taking this remarkably well. She had yet to punch Raquel in the face or run away screaming for help.

"Yes." Said Raquel, scared, "but, it's not what you think, I'm not a cultist, I'm just…"

"Ok." Raquel was baffled.

"Ok?"

"Yep. I don't really care. You're just stronger and faster. What's the problem with that?"

"Well, I also heal like some sort of…"

"Superhuman. You're fine by me." Raquel started babbling.

"Oh, thankyouthankyou you can't tell anyone thank you…"

"It's fine. Anyway, it's not like I can rat on you now you know my secret."

"What secret?" Ana made a slight gesture, and bright flame sprung into life. Right in the palm of her hand.

Tullius was strapped down. The Dark Eldar woman sat on a simple throne at the other end of the room. Well, simply made. It was made from carved bone. She was wearing the strange, impractical body armour common among the woman-warriors of her kind, showing off half her skin and hugging her lithe form closely. She was filing her nails. They were now lethal points. She examined them nonchalantly. "You know why I fight?" she purred.

"To kill. Butcher. Maim for your own amusement. I have seen your pleasure trips before." He let pure, undiluted malice drip into his words.

"Yes, there is that," said the Wych Succubus, "and very enjoyable it is too. However, there is another reason. Your people, you see, are a ripe crop. Full of pride and humility, courage and fear…" she licked her black-painted lips. "Delicious." Tullius gave a little shudder of disgust. "And of course, then you have the really _prize_ specimens, like you. Warriors, champions, heroes, all brought back here to fight in the Arenas. And I own one of these arenas. So a _glorious_ exhibit like you will fetch a _massive_ audience." She stepped down from her throne. "And large audiences? They mean more violence. And more violence…" she licked her lips again. "Is just _delectable._ " she then drew a blade. "I have to have you in the arena in three realspace weeks, but that does not mean I cannot have some fun first."

Raquel's question was swift, intelligent, direct, and beautifully phrased, given the circumstances. "Why is there fire? You made fire." Ana gave a shy little smile.

"I should probably start with where I come from. Little Civilised World, Ultima Segmentum. I was pretty much born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Attended a good school, smart kids there. Lots of them. Left every one of them behind. Within two terms, I was surpassing kids three years older than me. My parents set me up for a career as an Inquisitor. Then it happened. There was this kid at my school. Eighteen. Real jerk. I beat him in final exams. I was fourteen. Him and a few of his friends, they took me behind the garage. Started hitting me. One of them pulled a knife. They said they would…"She shuddered. "They said they were going to rape me and kill me. That was when it happened. I felt a sort of surge. Then I started to burn. Next ten seconds, they were all dead. Just...Piles of ash. I made a run for it. Hopped a freighter offworld, spent the journey hiding in the ship's hold. Tried to learn what I was. Eventually, I managed to figure out that I was a Psyker. Pyromancer, to be exact. I knew what the Inquisition did to people like me. Took us back to Terra on the Black Ships, fed us to the Emperor to keep the Astronomican alive. I didn't want that to happen to me. So I learned to hide it. Learned how to control it from wandering Psykers, hung around Psychic Nulls whenever I could. I joined the Guard. Anonymity, food and board. And that's how I ended up here. Remember that bomb when we disembarked? I lied. I wasn't lucky. I was protected. I made a shield of fire. That guy, the last in my unit? That hot metal I sorted his leg with? I heated that myself. I've been keeping my power under wraps for years, only using it when I won't be discovered, and just sort of praying that a Dæmon won't find me and turn my brain inside out. Quite frankly, it's a miracle that hasn't happened already."

"Whoah," said Raquel, awed at Ana's resilience and ingenuity, "and I thought my story was bad."

"Why? What happened to you?" Raquel thought for a second. _Be careful. This could be a trick._

 _Be honest. It_ is _the best policy._ She began speaking. "Well, it was a dark and stormy night…stop looking at me like that, it was...and I couldn't pay my rent."

"Whoah. Gripping stuff."

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, there were three gangers, attacking me, and…"

Tullius stood, naked, in front of another Wych. She appeared to be much less evil than the other Wych, who had had her fun with him for what had seemed like days, cutting and cutting but never killing. His cuts had now healed over. This Wych seemed more interested in his muscle density. She was leafing through a thick book, which contained a variety of diagrams of Astartes. He was disconcerted to note that they had been drawn in terms of the positions of their veins and arteries. "Why was I brought here?" he asked, indignant but curious all the same.

"Hmm?" she seemed to have forgotten all about him. "Oh, yes. You are here to become a gladiator. Your race had something similar, did they not, in the annals of your history. The Romans. And, of course, there was that nasty business with Angron. Very unpleasant man. Utter brute, and only worse after the whole thing with those implants." She spoke like she had known the Traitor primarch personally. She might well have, given the long lifespans of these xenos. He growled. It was the first thing that came to mind for some reason.

"The Eater of Worlds was a traitor. Nothing more. And now, it is a Dæmon."

"A traitor to your kind, perhaps. Among my kind, what you would describe as treachery is a common social interaction. Our society is built on deception, and our leaders ascend on the broken backs of others. You would see it as a regrettable state of affairs, even an atrocity, but it is normal here."

"That explains much about your race."

"Offensive humour! Excellent. The crowds shall simply adore you. Are you indignant at your current predicament?"

"It is irksome, but I do not doubt that I will escape at some point to continue my mission."

"Which is?"

"To recover a human called…" he clamped down on his speech, shutting up. No doubt these beasts would love to have Raquel Menzanez as a contestant in their sick bloodsports.

"Oh, of course. Some sort of secret mission? How predictable. Well, I don't really care. I was simply being social. Ah, well, it doesn't seem to be your forte either." Overly talkative _and_ a xenos. He disliked this one already. "Well, let's get started. Follow me." She paused. "And please, just put some clothes on. I don't particularly want to look at that." Nonplussed, he pulled on a pair of loose trousers of some unknown material that were lying on the workbench, which fit him, and followed.

"And now I'm here," finished Raquel.

"Whoah. That's rough," said Ana, impressed, "but mine is worse."

"Agreed. And when did this turn into a competition?"

"Just now. I won." Raquel smiled.

"Nuts." Ana's face became slightly more serious.

"Well, I guess that's twice you've got hurt saving me."

"The first one was kinda my fault. Should've killed that guy."

"Yeah. Still, it was a good shot from Carson."

"I didn't see it. How was it?".

"Great. Straight through the window. Almost as good as your knife work."

"That was a good grenade throw back in that firefight a week or two back."

"Thanks. It's all in the elbow, really. Like, you have to use your wrist for direction, and you use your shoulder for longer-distance throws, but really, the elbow is where most of my power comes from." Raquel gave a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just that if you asked me about two years ago, I would have absolutely no idea about any of this. I wonder what changed."

"You got all grown up, mutated to become quite possibly the most physically fit unmodified woman in the Segmentum, and beat the crap out of a Space Marine. That's what caused you to change."

"Plus, I had about two years in a cargo hold with nothing to do except practise my skills."

"You spent two years practising? Whoah."

"Yep. I had a lot of free time, and I had to sneak into the galleys for food quite a lot."

"All those times they ran out of chocolate nutrient paste before I could get any…"

"Sorry." Then they almost burst out laughing, before remembering that Raquel's arm was covered in her own blood, and Ana's room was full of half-dead cultists. And one dead one. They sat and talked for a while, eventually getting onto the subject of Mickey. "That guy's like some sort of boy trapped in a man's body."

"Teenager trapped in a man's body." Again, they almost laughed. Then, there was a knock on the door.

"Mierda." Raquel said quietly.

"Hey, Raquel? You in there?" It was Molders. "I knocked on Ana's door, but no-one answered. We've got a cult HQ in the Underhive, and the powers that be want everyone on station." Raquel looked at Ana. Ana looked at Raquel. Raquel's face was coated with blood from a cultist's nose, and her own blood was still on her arm. If Molders looked closely at her before she could get full armour on, including some sort of facemask, she would be stuffed. Her brain raced. How could she stop Molders from looking at her for any period of time? She turned to Ana.

"Take your shirt off," she whispered hurriedly. Ana complied without question, seeming to understand what Raquel was trying to achieve. Molders opened the door, and walked in on Raquel and Ana lying shirtless on the floor, entwined in a position that suggested a particularly enjoyable evening. He quickly shut the door again.

"I won't tell Mickey, but get your kit on and get ready!" They looked at each other, and quickly pulled their flak armour on. Raquel pulled on a bandana.

"That's a good look for you," complimented Ana.

"Thanks. It's literally just a piece of scrap cloth I found in a dump on patrol one evening." They then walked towards the door. _Go on. You are probably never going to get another chance like this._ "Hey, Ana?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go and get a drink after we've burned the corpses in your room?"

"Okay."


	13. Chapter 13

The annoying Wych flicked her wrist, and three headless corpses fell over. The heads stayed where they were for half a second before realising their position was structurally unsound and collapsing to join their bodies. The killer of three innocent slaves who had likely never done anything to warrant their death turned to him. "Now, you see, many Wyches will try and do something like that in the Arena. Just duck out of the way. Try it." She swung the whip at him. He grabbed it out of the air and pulled it. It came out of her hands easily. "No, no, no! It has to be aesthetically pleasing as well. You have to seem on the defensive sometimes."

"Why? Sacrificing the initiative for the sake of the crowd's perverted amusement is contrary to my will to retain all my limbs, both mechanical and organic." She gave a slight, tinkling laugh. He frowned.

"Yes, but you must appear to be less skilled than you truly are. Any fight is likely a remarkably easy proposition for you, but your fights must not seem monotonous or we will simply have to throw you from atop the balcony overlooking the port where we put all captured Imperial ships. Let me show you." She led him out of the bloodstained arena, and up a flight of stairs. He looked down, and saw at least three small Imperial voidcraft.

"Do you strip these craft of parts?" He asked.

"Not these ones. They are too damned archaic to be of value. No weapons of note, but we keep them stocked with a couple of point defense cannons, and we are working on that one's forward lance array. New...focusing matrices, I believe you would call them. Of course, it is guarded by three squads of Kabalite warriors at all times, led by the greatest Incubus we could acquire." Tullius nodded disinterestedly. Underneath his bored demeanor, though, a plan was forming. It was a terrible, awful, crazy plan that relied on 93% pure blind luck, and 5% random assumption, but 2% of it was pure gold. He would break out of the complex with an army of freed gladiators and steal the rust-coloured Mechanicum ship. He would then reduce large portions of the surrounding area to dust with whatever systems he could bring online, and fly away, making a blind jump to Emperor-knew where, before jumping again until he found a world with actual ships. He would then find Raquel Menzanez.

The battle went well. Raquel managed to slip away from the battle early, and butchered the cultists' heavy weapon teams. She saw Ana run forward and surreptitiously burn her way through a metal door. They met up afterwards,and ran on ahead of the returning troops. They had to burn the corpses of the cultists in Ana's room. Within a few minutes, the unfortunate chaos-worshippers were nothing but ash. A strong wind blew them out of the window. Ana smiled. "Right. Let's get the blood off you and go to a bar."

"Sounds good."

The couple sat at a bar. They were smiling happily, holding hands. They held drinks of ale, and took periodic swigs from them. At least three men were looking at them, interested. They didn't care. It was amazing just to kick back after a hard day of cutting down enemies. They were still wearing their uniform. A guy sauntered up. "Hello, ladies," he said it like laydeeeez, "you've never been with a PDF guy before. Wanna know how I can tell?"

"No." He was not deterred.

"Because you're still banging each other," he said, confident in his 'score'. Raquel clenched her fists.

"Go away before I rip off your pride and joy."

"Whoah. You're aggressive! I may have to spank you…" it was then, of course, that the other members of the squad walked in. Molders was hiccuping slightly. Jones had his arm wrapped round a slim, attractive PDF trooper. Adelina was holding a drink. They sat down at various tables. Raquel and Ana, seeing an opportunity to get away from this utter git, went over to Molders and Adelina, who had sat down at the bar. The git followed them. He leered at Adelina, and sat down. "Well, hello there…" he waited for Adelina to tell him her name. She pointedly ignored him. He snaked a hand round to cup her bottom. Things happened very quickly after that. Molders drew back his organic arm, and punched him in the face. A group of big, buff guys stood up and began to move to back him up. Jones excused himself to his date, and moved to intercept them. One swung a punch. He dodged it, and retaliated with a roundhouse kick. Raquel and Ana smiled, stood up, and began moving. By now, Molders and the git had stood up. Molders picked him up, and slammed him down on the bar. By now, Jones' fight was in full swing. He picked up a chair, and swung it round to strike a PDF trooper with biceps the size of Chimeras in the face. The butch brawler took the hit, and retaliated with a punch that sent Jones reeling. McCameron stood up, calmly drained his beer, and threw the bottle with pinpoint accuracy to hit a PDF trooper in the face. He then waded in, swinging mighty punches. Raquel jumped on the back of the guy who had punched Jones, and began choking him out. He flailed around, trying to shake her off, but eventually succumbed to the lack of air and collapsed. McCameron waded in, delivering big sledgehammer blows to the trio of beefy PDF troopers who had moved to surround her. One hit him, but then Ana kicked the shaved PDF Heavy Weapons specialist responsible in the groin. He howled, and went down. Ana smiled coldly. Raquel grinned at her girlfriend. Then she realised she had a girlfriend. She grinned even more. Then, there was a whistle.

"Hey! Everyone, outside, now!" Molders froze halfway through the action of throwing the man who had touched Adelina through a case of strong whiskey. Jones furtively slipped over over to the bar and pocketed a small decanter of amber liquid. Ana stopped moving towards the brawlers. Jones' date moved slowly to stand next to him. McCameron quickly put away the small beer bottle he had been readying to throw, and Raquel and Ana quickly moved to stand together. As they walked past the captain, Jones turned to him.

"You whistle really loud, you know that?"

"The point of joint operations is to operate jointly!" yelled the captain, "Not to beat the crap out of each other! I demand an explanation!"

"And I demand discipline!" Yelled a Noble, who had showed up and been allowed in, "My men have been randomly attacked by you common Yokels!" Ana glanced at Raquel, giving her a look that said, _Is this guy serious?_ "And my own nephew among the victims of this attack!" _Oh, mierda._

"Look, we haven't seen any evidence that your men were randomly attacked!"

"Do you doubt the word of my own flesh and blood?"

"Only so long as I must! You cannot deny the fact that my men do not agree with his statement, and maintain that he sexually assaulted Trooper Martinez!"

"Harmless flirting, Uncle," said the nephew hurriedly.

"See? You heard it from him!"

"Multiple eyewitnesses saw him attempt to flirt with Troopers Menzanez and Moroz, fail, and then attempt to feel up Trooper Martinez."

"Lies!" the nephew was panicking slightly. "All lies, slander, treachery and...lies!"

"And eyewitnesses. Eyewitnesses saw you."

"Liars!" The Uncle looked indignant.

"How dare you insult my son's honour?"

"Your son's honour is, at present, something that must be questioned. But, of course, if you do not want our support, then we could just leave…" he couldn't-every single member of the regiment, right down to the cooks, would be executed for heresy-but the Noble didn't know that.

"Very well...I will discipline him. Come, Bartholomew, let us leave these peasants." The nephew stood up, and trotted away. The squad slapped high-fives. The captain turned on them.

"Don't think I've forgotten you lot, either. If you guys weren't one of my best squads, you'd be on latrine-scrubbing duties for the rest of the campaign. As is, take three weeks latrine duty, and two more weeks dish-washing." They snapped slightly weary salutes. Raquel was mostly thinking that Moroz was a very nice last name indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

Raquel lay in bed. There was a knock at the window. Ana was out there, hanging by her fingernails. Raquel stood up, and opened the window. "Can't those cultists leave us alone for a while?" she asked.

"No, no cultists. I was just wondering how you were." Raquel gave a happy smile, and suddenly became conscious that she was wearing nothing but a pair of loose cotton trousers and the same bra she'd been wearing for the past four days.

"I'm great. You?"

"Same." there was a brief silence. "That was quite a fun first date, wasn't it?" Raquel chuckled.

"Yeah. Totally worth the latrine duty."

"Yeah." Ana suddenly laughed at something. "If my father could see me now…"

"What would he say?"

"He was an old-fashioned man. Against homosexuality. Not really much of a family man, and very upper-class. Believed that fighting was for lower orders of people. Now I'm a ground-pounder in the Guard, I can make fire come out of my hands, and I've kissed a girl."

"Wait. I thought I was your first girlfriend."

"You are." And with that, she took Raquel's face in her hands, and kissed her on the mouth. Raquel fought the instinct to recoil or lash out, and kissed her back, before breaking away to catch her breath. Their kiss resumed, more passionate and urgent this time, Ana hooking her hands through Raquel's coarse, dark brown hair. Ana broke away, breathing heavily. "Raquel?" she gasped,

"Yeah?"

"I think I've fallen in love with you." Raquel pulled her in close.

"I think I might have fallen in love with you, too."

Everyone saw the change between Ana and Raquel in the mess hall that morning. You would have had to be a half-blind lobotomised Ogryn not to. The connection that they now shared was almost visible, like a thin, opalescent line between them. It was an off day that day, with no Cultists, no random snipers, no idiotic blue-bloods, so they just walked around the hive city. Eventually, they came to the walls. Raquel went and bought sandwiches and water from a nearby shop, and they sat on the ancient pintle mount of a macro-cannon to eat a picnic as the sun set over the horizon, the sulphuric acid vapour in the air refracting the light and turning the sky purple and blue.

The sands of the arena were slick with blood. Tullius walked out onto them preparing himself to kill. He wore no armour, as he had not been allowed to. He didn't even know where his armour, and the ancient Crux Terminatus it bore, were. In some Archon's perverted armoury or reliquary, no doubt. A Wych finished off a Xenos slave, and turned to him. He settled into guard. He knew that he was stronger, and tougher. The Xenos was faster. He dodged neatly a thrown dagger, jinked himself around a pinpoint thrust, and snapped a brittle spine like a twig. His next opponent was heavily modified with strange, unnatural technology, and he could not discern its species or gender. Unknown variable. Treat with caution. He dared it to make the first move. It obliged, furiously hacking and slashing. He kicked out hard, caving its ribs in. It kept moving. He drew back both arms, and punched straight through it, leaving a mighty hole. Even then it struck at him, but eventually it died. He shook it off his forearms, dark indigo Xenos blood flowing off his fingers. More doors opened around the walls of the arena. A trio of the Dark Eldar's flesh-constructs came forth. He dodged around the attacks of two, but the third raked jagged talons of bone down his chest. He grunted as blood welled up, and grabbed both its wrists. He kicked out with his right leg, and the arms came away in his hands as cartilage and muscle ripped. A great cheer went up from the crowd. He felt disgust towards them. It had been a method of neutralising a threat, not a showy move. Another flesh-construct leapt towards him, but he stepped back. It face planted into the sand, and he drove his foot down hard. The third one was more cautious. He charged it, knocking it down and striking again and again. He stood up, and faced the crowd. "You disgust me!" He shouted. They only cheered the louder for it.

Tullius had a plan. It was a plan that even the strategists of the Death Korps of Krieg would not sanction. He began thinking about the minutiae. Every three minutes, two Kabalite Warrior passed his cell. They turned to him, and laughed. The second time, he swiftly reached through the bars and grabbed an arm. The armoured figure screamed in pain as his companion giggled. Tullius had little time. He seized the Warrior's pistol, the Xenos tech woefully small and toy-like in his mighty hands, and shot the laughing Eldar in the throat. He the killed the one he was holding with a brutal motion. Armed with a pistol now, he had no qualms about shattering the feeble Psychoplastic cell door. He had, while being taken from the arena, memorised the locations of Bjargborn's and the Inquisitor's cells. Much as he detested the Inquisitor, he needed the man. Without an Inquisitorial Seal, he would never get to Raquel Menzanez. He had, however, resolved to keep a close eye on the Inquisitor, as he did not trust the man to allow him to speak with Raquel before taking her away. He ran along, mercifully finding the corridors empty, and broke down the doors. He then went down the corridor, smashing cell doors as he went. He did not know what these men and women were like, and he did not care. He only cared that they were human, and at least one had to be a reasonable fighter. A Kabalite Warrior came down the steps. He shot it. "Grab the guns," he told Bjargborn.

"Xenos tech? Heresy!" Squeaked the Inquisitor.

"Weapons allow us to kill. We must kill to escape. We need weapons." The Inquisitor backed away. "Listen to me!" Shouted Tullius. "I am Veteran-Brother Tullius of the Iron Hands! I am going to escape. All of you are welcome to come with me. Does anyone here know how to run a Void Ship engine?" A hand was raised. He turned to Bjargborn. "Protect that one."

"Aye aye, Lord."


	15. Chapter 15

The group advanced on the Archon's personal armoury. There would likely be Tullius' armour here, and maybe even relic weapons stolen millennia ago. He broke down the door, and was not disappointed. Dozen upon dozens of bolters stood on racks in corners, part of some twisted collection. Tullius' power armour stood in a corner. He went to try and put it on. The feel of the Machine Spirit bonding with his black carapace gave him new strength. He looked around. Bolters were fine weapons indeed, and he would pick one up, but surely a Xenos this long-lived would have some ancient human weapon. He passed lascannons, Tau weapons of unknown type, and then, joy of joys, a small collection of ancient weapons from the era of the great crusade. A disintegrator pistol, a Charnabal Sabre, a Volkite Serpenta, and a Nanyte blaster stood before him. He took them all, and smiled evilly beneath his helmet. Time to commence purgation of the foe. The other escapees had armed themselves with whatever they could find, and looked like they could project significant firepower. They had also equipped themselves with respirators, which he was glad for. "The Xenos know we have escaped. There is an Imperial sloop docked nearby with a functional Warp drive and Gellar field. That is what we will use to leave this place. Follow me, and your chances of survival are increased by an order of magnitude." No one spoke. He checked the ammo on his Nanyte blaster. One shot, and only a basic understanding of what it did. From what he knew, it was a weapon which caused the target to explode in a cloud of Nanobots, which then spread to another target and caused that to suffer the same fate, and so on. That would be his 'I win' button, but he could only use it once. He slung it across his back. The Disintegrator pistol seemed to have a reasonable amount of shots, and the Serpenta was fully charged, not to mention that he had found a few spare ammo clips. The Sabre was not complicated. It was a sword. He decided on wielding the Serpenta and Sabre. He walked out of the door. Everyone followed him. Two Dark Eldar barred his way, but he cut them down. He called up a mental map of the facility, carefully compiled over the course of his captivity, and shouted out "left!" As he fired two shots from his Serpenta, killing a Dark Eldar Wych. The group of escapees rounded the corner, one of the ones in the rear letting off a few shots from a Tau pulse carbine at a few pursuers. A few thumps sounded as bodies hit the floor. Tullius burst through a door, and saw the deep void between him and the ship. The bridge from Commorragh to the small ship had vanished. Bjargborn ran up.

"They're behind us, lord." Tullius thought. One more element of pure blind luck could hardly hurt now.

"Jump for the ship!" The whole group did so without hesitation. A few rounds from Dark Eldar defenders struck his armour. He struck near the ship's main hangar bay. Scrambling along to a panel, he pulled the panel away with a mighty heave. It flew off into space. The others had grabbed onto various gargoyles and other ornaments, and were letting off suppressive fire against the Dark Eldar on the platform. He reached in, and found a group of wires. Whispering a brief apology to the Machine Spirit, he spliced them together with his sword. A door opened. "Get in!" He said into his Vox, gesturing towards the open door. A Voidraven flew towards them. He grabbed a Krak grenade from a nearby escapee, and threw it. The slim Xenos craft was blown apart. Bjargborn pulled the engineer in through the door with him. "Get to the bridge," he told Bjargborn, "You, try and bring an engine online. It doesn't have to be much. We just need to be moving.

"To be frank, lord, we may be better off pushing the craft ourselves."

"Well, see what you can do."

"Yes, Lord." The engineer ran off.

"The rest of you, man the guns. Whatever you can shoot, you do shoot. Go for mass destruction." They all ran off to find the biggest gun available. He himself ran to the bridge. "Engineering, how are we doing?"

"Those bastards are filthy xenos, but they can patch up a Warp drive. The thing's running smooth. The thrusters are properly maintained, so shipmaster Bjargborn can take us out whenever possible. And, indeed, I'd prefer it if he did." As if to accentuate this point, an explosion rocked the hull.

"Get us out of here."

"Aye aye, lord." the mighty ship tore across the void, weapons fire coming from but a few of its mighty turrets. Then, a trio of shadows detached themselves from the wall. Warriors, with some sort of camouflage gear. Tullius reacted on instinct, drawing his Charnabal Sabre and squaring up to them. He began to go through the motions of a ritualistic challenge, and then moved like lightning to decapitate one. The other two struck back, and he parried the blows. He then lashed out with his fist, the force of the blow sending a broken corpse flying into a bulkhead. He then drew his Serpenta, and shot the final one in the chest. He then voxed to the others.

"Return to the bridge. Stay together, and watch your backs." Sounds of assent, too few for his liking, came back across the net. "I must go and protect the engineer." he exited the bridge, and began running.

Mickey found out. Of course he found out. The asshole had eyes and ears everywhere. He kept asking them both how it was. When they didn't tell him, he asked if he could watch next time. When they told him to go away, he offered to 'help them out' next time. When Ana offered to kick him so hard in the crotch he 'would end up with a pair of testicles lodged in his digestive tract' he backed off. There were a few more minor skirmishes with cultists, and then a long period of peace and rest while the command staff prepared to move to the front lines. There was no point being discreet-Mickey had told everyone in the regiment already-so Raquel and Ana moved in together. In theory, they had two separate beds, but they just slept in the same one. Raquel shuddered slightly in her sleep. Ana was sound asleep, and didn't notice.

Raquel was in a room. It was not a big room. It was reasonably messy. Tullius, Ana and Carlos sat around the room. She looked at each of them. First at Tullius, then at Ana, then at Carlos, then back to Tullius. Only it wasn't Tullius, it was a creature with blood-red skin and leathery, bat-like wings. And then, Ana and Carlos were changing, Ana splitting in two, becoming a tall, birdlike thing with eyes that sparked, and a tall, slim, hideously attractive _thing_ with purple skin and claws like those of a lobster. Carlos was also changing. He was swelling, turning green. Raquel backed away, ready to bolt, when the purple thing spoke. "Oh, you have been _so_ helpful. Hasn't she been helpful?"

"Yesss…" hissed the bird-thing.

"Yeah," said the green fat thing, with a sort of weary interest. The red thing just grunted and nodded slightly.

"What are you?" she searched her memory for something, anything about these monsters. She recalled a single mantra from her early trips to the Ecclesiarchy cathedral. "You shall find no purchase on my soul, for the Emperor's light is in my fibre! I am a loyal servant of them Imperium! I serve the Truth, the light, the honour of Man!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Whatever." said the purple thing. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kelli. The Lord of Change is Marco. The Great Unclean One is Elmo. That Bloodthirster is Elijah. None of those are our real names. You will never find our real names."

"What do you want with me?"

"Not you. We just wanted to thank you. You have given us exactly what we want. I mean, we had to keep her safe from other dæmons, but you got close to her, allowed us to get close to her."

"What?"

"Why, your lover! A psyker of that power, why, she could open a Warp gate in seconds! Shame she never realised her full potential. We just have to...help her along."

"Warp gate? Dæmons? What are you talking about?"

"Why, we are dæmons! You know, the antithesis of all life, the manipulators in the shadows, the terrible bedtime stories? The enemy you are fighting on this planet." Okay. Enemy. That she could handle. She lunged, fists formed. She lashed out at the purple one, it seemed to be the ringleader. Punching the frail, unarmoured skin was like striking a Leman Russ. She screamed in pain. "Now, what did that achieve you?" The voice was chiding, like a disappointed schoolteacher. "If you'd just let me go through with my dramatic pause without trying to hurt an ancient being formed from a god, I would have explained that we are planning to open a portal through to a dimension you know as the Warp, or Immaterium. Through this portal, legions of dæmons will pour into your realm, wreaking havoc in preparation for a fourteenth Black Crusade, which will finally achieve its objective, and tear your idiotic 'civilisation' to pieces."

"Die. In. a fire."

"Wow, the hostility! Yep, been there, done that, got bored with it, burned the t-shirt. Now, just remember, don't go tattling to Commie."

"Why not?" she said, sounding braver than she felt.

"Well, pretty soon, there will be a massive defeat. Tens of thousands of men and women will die, and the forces of Chaos will advance to the walls of this city. If you go to tell anyone of our little chat, he will remember your suspicious absence when you went on your date. And he will remember you standing just within earshot of the vox when all the reports came back from the commanders in the field. You know humans, they do love to jump to conclusions. And that Commissar is rather impulsive."

"I hate you." Raquel let all her venom spill into her words. "I hate you."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Whatever."

"I hate you! I hate you! All of you! How can you do these things?"

"Really, it's just for fun. That, and the Great Game." Raquel's heart turned to ice. She felt her emotions, the rage that right now consumed her, freeze over like so much water. She knew what she was going to do.

"My name is Raquel Menzanez, sister of Carlos Menzanez, daughter of Jennifer and Lopez Menzanez. And I will end each and every one of you." and with that, she woke up. She looked over to Ana. The woman of frost and fire lay asleep, hair slightly mussed up in the way that always made Raquel smile. She could not smile now. By loving this woman, she had betrayed her.


	16. Chapter 16

p id="docs-internal-guid-4322e8fe-83f7-fc93-fa10-88e429f51d18" dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"He crept between the engines. He had charged like an ancient dreadnought through the hull, unstoppable in his lack of fury. Every move had been calculated, not like certain chapters, who allowed their fury to consume them. The colours red and gold instantly sprung to mind. The fury was there, of course, but it, like almost every other emotion, was buried under layers of steel and adamantium and superconductor. Two Dark Eldar were looking through various hiding places. They had not yet found the engineer. He killed them quickly and quietly. An Incubus led a patrol of five other Warriors around, also searching. They came upon the bodies. He squeezed off five shots, killing the warriors, and moved in to attack the Incubus. From what he knew of Volkite weapons, they were good at killing lightly armoured troops, but failed when pitted against any sort of heavier armour. He swung his blade, anticipating a parry, and was not disappointed. The Incubus countered, swinging low. Tullius activated his tactical cogitator. Time slowed slightly, and a flood of data struck him. He cast his armour's sensorium over the Xenos elite. Left-handed, not ambidextrous, capable of swinging the glaive it carried...pressure applied key to penetration, muscle mass, direction of swing, factor in gravity, air resistance negligible, factor it in anyway...not nearly hard enough to breach his armour. Now, what of its suit? Alien Psychoplastic, reports show it to be easily shattered by power swords, which can cut Astartes power armour, but not terminator armour. His sabre would go clean through it, and so it did. A helmet rolled away. He moved on, when he heard a clatter. The engineer hauled himself out from inside a crate of metal bars. "My thanks, Lord. They almost found me." a crate. "My thanks, Lord. I believe the engines are still running, but we must leave. Now." /span/p  
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p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Ok, put them there, in orbit, but make it take a few days, to get the ground troops into position." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"True enough, the enemy broke through the next day. Millions died, and those that came back reported that the enemy seemed to know their entire battle plan. And, apparently, the enemy had had some sort of heavy walker. A Warhound-class scout titan. Apparently, it had ripped through damn near the whole army. And now, it was coming. The Hive city readied itself. Totally and utterly. The enemy army gathered, infuriatingly out of range of both Macrocannon and Basilisk. A few disgruntled guardsmen took potshots, but did nothing. Within a day, the army had them utterly surrounded. The guard were ordered to dig trenches outside the city, and be ready to repel invasion. And so they did. Thousands and thousands and thousands more dug. And then thousands and thousands and thousands more huddled into their trenches, and waited for the inevitable attack. They waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And...waited. Boredom began to set in. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Raquel jogged on the spot. Ana was beside her, already panting slightly. Raquel wasn't even showing the exertion in the heat. A trio of burly PDF troopers sauntered up. "A certain noble says hi." said one. It was then that Raquel realised something bad was about to happen. By the time she was moving, two of them were next to her, grabbing her arms and legs so that she couldn't move. They wrestled her to the ground while Ana shouted. One of them produced a flick knife. She struggled against the burly grip of the two others. One of the other thugs grabbed his arm. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Na, mate. Don't do that." she almost cried with relief. "We can still have some fun with her." She resumed her struggles, but they were holding her fast. One of them started playing around with his belt buckle. She kicked out. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Hey, she's fighting! Aw, we know you want it really, little girlie," he taunted. Ana shouted, louder than ever. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""NO!" That one word contained more power than these men had in their bodies. "YOU CAN'T HURT HER! YOU WON'T HURT HER!" and with that, she burst into flame. Two men tried to run, but two tongues of flame shot out, wrapping around their necks and squeezing. Their heads popped off. The last one tripped, and tried to crawl away. Ana kicked him, hard, and he screamed as the burning foot struck him. She shoved her hand down his throat. A glow formed in his chest. He was screaming, his internal organs combusting, flames beginning to flicker in his mouth, his eyes, his nose, burning him from the inside out. He gave one, last agonised scream. And then, nothing. He was ashes, particles on a wind. Ana sank to her knees, flames extinguished. "I...killed them. I killed them." Raquel could only nod. "They're dead." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Yes." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Please…" she swallowed. "Please don't hate me." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Ana…I love you. Nothing will ever change that. I promise." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Thank...thank you," said Ana, her voice a whispery whimper. Raquel hugged her, and held her close. They didn't move, bound in each others' arms even as troopers surrounded them, bound them with strong cord, and carried them at gunpoint to the most secure cell in the city. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Warp dropout in three. Two. One." The shifting nothing-and-everythingness of the Warp returned to the more controlled environs of realspace. The Viper-class sloop was above a planet. "Transmission incoming, Lord." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Onscreen." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""We don't have a screen, Lord." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Just bring up the message." Replied Tullius. The message was brought up. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""This is Planetary Governor Lukas, requesting support! Any local forces, we need an evacuation, air support, bombardment, anything!" /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""This is Veteran-brother Tullius of the Iron Hands." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Astartes! Thank the Emperor! The Nox regiments guarding our city will not be up to the task of repelling the attackers." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""I am the only Astartes aboard this ship, however we may be able to assist in evacuations." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Well, that's something." Tullius' brow furrowed briefly. He was having a flashback. My memory is impaired. Which planetld is this? /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Hive World Nox Secundus, Lord. Ultima Segmentum. is this? /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Hive World Nox Secundus, Lord. Ultima Segmentum. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Among the guardsmen, do you know of a woman? Trooper Menzanez." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Why, yes! Attacked and beat up my friend's nephew! I have been assured that she was appropriately disciplined." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""I must locate her. It is an Inquisitorial mission." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Why yes, it is!" shouted the Inquisitor. He held a meltagun in scared hands. Tullius froze. "And you are attempting to compromise it. Raise your hands." Tullius did so, and was ignobly taken from the room. A few minutes later, the Inquisitor returned. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Send all those who have been in contact with Trooper Menzanez to my ship. Then we will discuss evacuations." He cut the link. /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Very snappy/spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;", he thought, /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"very neat/spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;". He walked past Bjargborn, who looked ready to stand up and attack him. "Shipmaster, would you please put us into orbit, ready to receive a docking party?" a moment of conflict. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Aye aye, Inquisitor." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"The Vendetta took off, carrying a handcuffed group of individuals. The squad had been grabbed by PDF troopers, and bundled aboard the Vendetta. With ten lasrifles pointed at each of them, they had not tried anything. Now they sat, handcuffed, in the back of the transport. There was silence, except for the sound of wings battling the air outside. Raquel spoke. "I'm sorry." Molders turned to her. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Why?" /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""This is all my fault. I'm a mutant. I thought I'd be forgotten, but I was wrong. And now all of you are getting dragged down with me." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Raquel, this probably ain't even your fault. It's probably Ana's. Bloody unsanctioned psyker, keeping us in the dark." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""It's not her fault she's a psyker." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""No, it ain't. It's her fault she burned three guys to ash." /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""They were trying to rape me." Molders evidently didn't know this. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Son of a bitch!" Jones spoke. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;""Whatever happens, we effing well go together." The pilots were disturbed by a mighty shout of 'OOH-RAH!' from their prisoners. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"They were seized by a few PDF troopers before they were brought aboard the vessel. At gunpoint, they were taken to cells. They were thrown in. The doors shut. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"Tullius saw them taken past. He did not know most of them, but he recognized Raquel Menzanez. He clenched his fists under his armour. He had been allowed to keep his armour. Its machine spirit had protested so hard to being removed from him that they had stopped trying. So there they were. Two machines in a cage. A grille of the strongest adamantium in front, and mighty bulkheads hemming them in on all other sides. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"_-_-_-/span/p 


	17. Chapter 17

Raquel slept. The four dæmons were back. "We aren't dead yet."

"I'm working on it. Fuck off."

"Whoah! Language, language."

"Leave me alone."

"Better,"

"Fuck. Off."

"Language. Language."

"Why are you in my head?"

"We just wanted to say thank you again for helping us get to Ana."

"I hate all of you."

"It's ok. You wanna talk about it?"

"Get out of my head."

"We'd rather no-WAKE UP." Said the Dæmon. The last part was in Tullius' voice.

A heavy tread shook the ground. It was the tread of a thousand thousand thousand booted feet, a thousand thousand more behind them, and so on for eternity. A heavier tread came among it. It was the tread of three titans, machine-effigies of a God of metal and smoke and knowledge long-lost, and of their myriad walking escorts. Had anyone among the defenders of the last city on the planet been an expert on such things, beyond armour chinks and blind spots, they would have identified one as a Reaver-class titan, its mighty turbolaser destructors whining up to full charge with the sound of a gunship engine. Flanking it, two Warhound-class titans brought various mighty weapons to full power. Clanks like the tread of Sentinel walkers sounded as one readied its Vulcan mega bolters. On the other, mighty Plasma Blastguns powered up, their exposed powercores cycling up to full charge, a neon glow like a sun. Between their legs, Renegade Knights ran, five of them for each Titan, chainswords whirring, gauntlets buzzing, various weapons loading shells and hissing gas into combustion chambers. Beneath them, crushed occasionally by the insane machine-spirits, crazed pilots, or simple indifference of the effigies above them, went the thousand thousand thousand booted feet. In the trenches round the city, millions of trigger fingers tightened, a few nervous shakes sending early las-bolts off at the oncoming horde. They did nothing. The range was too great. Still the titanic death-gods came closer.

Tullius stood in front of her as her eyes opened. He stood before the grille of the cell. Seeing him brought a wave of emotions. Fear. Comfort. Joy. Sadness. "Do it." she would not show fear at her death. "Kill me. That was what your mission was, wasn't it?" He looked at her.

"My mission was to locate you, and place you in Imperial Custody." She laughed, spitefully.  
"Well, you've done that!" He cocked his head.

"Mission parameters overridden." And with that, he ripped the grill from its hinges, and extended a hand. "We have work to do." The others woke up. Ana looked terrified, until Raquel explained. Even then, she eyed Tullius with distrust. "The city on the ground is under heavy attack from a massive enemy force. The Inquisitor is unwilling to help in evacuations. Ergo, we must stop the enemy force." there was silence. Then Molders spoke up.

"I'm out of here." Raquel grabbed his shoulder.

"Wait. Hear Tullius out."

"Look, Raquel, I don't know about you, but taking on an army ain't exactly possible with one squad of sort-of Veterans." And he left. Jones went as well. Adelina followed. Carson stuck around for a bit longer, but left. McCameron eventually very politely told them to 'piss off' and left. Then, Tullius explained his plan.

"We shall board an enemy titan. Destroy it from the inside. Then we will kill everything in a radius until the Astra Militarum clean the enemy off the field."

"How do we get down there?"

"You don't!" Shouted the Inquisitor. He was back. So was the Meltagun. "You go in new cells, and we leave! My mission is accompl-" he probably would have kept talking, but a well-placed fist-its owner irritated by racial slurs, an upper-class nature, a vicious focus on career advancement and various other things over a period of many years of service-impacted his face. Bjargborn rubbed his knuckles.

"Go. Just go. I don't like this guy, and you're saying you want to save people. I got the keys for a Saviour pod. I got your weapons, too." He unslung a backpack, and produced Raquel's knives, lasrifle, pistol, and a few grenades, handed Ana a lasrifle and pistol, and allowed Tullius to reclaim his own wargear. He also gave them a few melta bombs and Krak grenades.

"My thanks, shipmaster Bjargborn."

"My honour, Lord."

The Saviour pod jettisoned. "Hold onto something." warned Tullius. "I am about to redirect us towards the enemy Reaver-class Titan." Raquel asked one question.

"What if you miss?"

"I will not." And with that, he hit the thrusters. The small pod directed itself towards the mighty God-machine. The atmosphere burned over the hull, sending ripples of flame across the metal. "The pod will not survive impact with the hull Titan, but it will destroy the Void Shields. Initiating retros." The group were jolted as the jets fired. "Retro fuel depleted. Jump!" There was no time to argue. They all jumped. Tullius bounced across the hull before initiating his mag-locks. Raquel rolled to a halt. Ana used her Psychic powers, wings of flame slowing her down enough to not be turned into a paste. Tullius resolved to confront her on this later. He then walked along to them, mag-locks clunking, and helped Raquel find her feet. Ana was slowly standing up on her own. They walked along, until they found a maintenance hatch. Ana worked a bit of technoheresy that would have made a techpriest systematically overload his or her major circuits on the door controls, and Tullius jumped down. He was promptly shot in the face. "Hostiles!" he shouted, the las-bolt rebounding from his armour, and shot the offending heretic in the forehead. Raquel and Ana dropped in through the hatch. "We have little time. Soon the Titan will be in range of the city. The Death Toll will be catastrophic."

"The city has Macrocannons. Why aren't they firing?"

The cultists picked their way over the corpses of the city gunners. "Plant the charges, and leave."

The trio passed through the corridor. Tullius took point, his sabre ready in the darkness. Ana was in the middle, trying to light their way with bursts of flame. Raquel was their rearguard. A group of heretics had barred their way. The heretics had soon stopped barring their way. "The reactor should be here in three metres on the left," said Tullius. There was door in three metres. It was on the left. Tullius used the handle. It slid open. There was no reactor. There were three dæmons instead. Tullius switched to the disintegrator pistol. It would have difficulty penetrating the aetheric energies surrounding the monstrous beings, but it was designed to kill such large creatures. One, the Slaaneshi one, spoke.

"Good to finally see you in person, Raquel!"

"Die. In. A fire." And with that, she charged. Tullius went after her, firing as he went. Ana sent a bolt of flame at the Khornate one, forcing it back as the fire broke across its skin. Tullius' bolts struck the Slaaneshi, but it ignored them, slashing at him with razor fingernails. He blocked, but now he was on the defensive. Raquel fired an overcharged burst into the Slaaneshi's back, drawing its ire and allowing Tullius a reprieve, but before he could strike, the Khornate swung an axe at his head, which he ducked, and then tackled it, forcing it away from the swirling melee taking place between Raquel and the Slaaneshi. Ana swung a fist towards the Khornate as she jumped towards it, fire trailing from her whole arm, and struck it a mighty blow to the head. It flew away, striking the wall of the chamber with a satisfying noise. The Slaaneshi struck hard at Raquel, catching her across the face. Her cheek was ripped free. Tullius charged the Slaaneshi, firing heavily, emptying his clip. Rounds struck it, forcing it down, knocking it back, blasting holes in its beguiling form. He reached Raquel. And watched as her cheek, torn clean away by the claw, began to heal. By now, Ana was engaging the Great Unclean One. Her firebolts broke across its surface, scorching and burning but not hurting. It reached her. Raquel's cheek was healed. It grabbed Ana by the neck, readying a corpulent blade for the killing blow. Raquel seized Tullius' Nanyte Blaster, ran towards it, stuck the gun into a hole in its chest, and pulled the trigger. A single burst of Nanytes fired. The Nurgleite had time to feel the small, lithe human form wrenched from its grasp before it was eaten from the inside out. The Slaaneshi dæmon stirred. Raquel readied her laspistol. The dæmon laughed.

"You haven't won. All we have to do is reach the city, and we can destroy the last resistance on the planet! And I will be back. I will!" Raquel took careful aim.

"Fuck you, Kelli." And she shot the Dæmon repeatedly in the head.

"There is no reactor here," said Ana, "what do we do?"

"We find the bridge," said Tullius, "and kill everything there before reducing it to ash."


	18. Chapter 18

A volley of Basilisk shots struck a Renegade Knight. It let out a tortured, agonised, dying shriek, and fell. That had been a rare stroke of luck. One of those Titans clearly had some sort of Vox jammer, as no orders, target coordinates, or meaningful help was forthcoming from command. Mickey fired his rifle, not hitting much, but occasionally being rewarded with a shout of pain. He looked to his left, and saw a gunner manning a lascannon turret shot in the chest. He shouted for a medic, and ran to the turret. He took hold of the trigger, and sent a lance of energy flying towards the enemy. A Sentinel died. He fired again, blasting a Chimera apart. The troops inside were picked off by opportunistic las-fire. Still the cultists and traitors came. It would take a miracle to save them now.

The trio ran through the Titan's guts. They had to reach the bridge before the machine came within range of the walls. Tullius kicked through a door, and Raquel covered Ana as she advanced into the next room. Tullius then ran up, and repeated the procedure. In the next room, shotgun fire met him, and he fired a burst of Volkite energy. Raquel jumped over his head, and added her lasgun fire to his shots. Ana sent off a burst of flame. They then kept moving. Soon, they came to the bridge. Tullius covered the door, and handed out the charges. "Blow it all up. We have little time." and, as the Titan's emaciated, etiolated pilot-entity writhed futilely in its amniotic fluid, they began setting explosives. Tullius saw something, and began firing down the passage.

"Hurry!"

Jack Molders looked at the glass in front of him. He filled it with whiskey. He needed to be drunk. Desperately needed to be. Jones sat beside him. McCameron on the other side. Adelina at a table. Carson near her. He stood up. "Ok, bugger to this." Jones looked up at him.

"Huh?"

"I'm going to go and do something."

"What?"

"I'm going to steal the Vendetta that bought us up here, and fly it down to the planet. Then, I'm going to help. I dunno how." And with that, he walked off. Carson drained his beer, and followed him. Next went Adelina. And then went Jones. Finally, McCameron polished off his vodka.

"Ah, bollocks to it." And he followed.

Three unconscious PDF troopers later, they sat in the cockpit. Molders was reading the instruction manual. "Yep. I still have no vehicle skills at all." there was a tap on the cockpit.

"I have," said Bjargborn.

The Titans charged forward, the remaining Knights with them, the infantry pell-mell among their legs. Volleys of fire still came from the Imperial lines, but the sheet of red lines and grey contrails grew thinner with each minute. Mickey was still alive, Emperor knew how, but it was now his job to provide covering fire for the other troops in his sector to retreat. Well. He was going to die.

Shit. He saw a target, and sent a volley towards it. Only as it fell to the fire from the heavy bolter turret he had commandeered did he see that it was a Chaos Marine. He swore. A psychic maelstrom had started up at the centre of the enemy army. A Sorcerer. He unleashed every profanity he knew. _Bollocks, to miracles, I'll need bloody divine intervention to get through this._

Tullius sent a volley of fire down the corridor at the cultists advancing up it. Raquel and Ana finished planting the charges. "Ok, time to go!" shouted Raquel.

"Agreed," rumbled Tullius, "Exit strategy?" Raquel tossed a Melta charge at the window, where it stuck.

"Exit strategy." Tullius paused.

"Landing strategy?" Raquel paused.

"We'll wing it. Ana? Can you do something magic-y?"

"I'll do my best." And then, Raquel detonated the charge. The window was reduced to slag, and they jumped. Raquel threw in a bundle of frags behind her. The Cultists ran into the control room. And saw multiple large, disk-shaped objects attached to various surfaces. The bundle of frags landed.

"Aw, son of a bitch…"

Mickey saw it happen. The Command in the city saw it happen. The retreating troops saw it happen. High up in orbit, a highly dazed Inquisitor saw it happen. The Reaver Titan's head, coated in blasphemous iconography, staring down disapprovingly at the Imperials, exploded like a tomato struck by a meltagun blast. Mickey gasped. "Holy crap!" Slowly, the mighty engine of war collapsed, and struck the Titan to its left, which fell over in turn. Suddenly, the vox net was clear, whatever jammer was on the Titan destroyed, and one order came over the vox.

"All units, drive them back!"

"There's still a Titan up there!" He shouted into the vox.

"Then kill it!"

"Sir, we don't have the firepower!"

"We do." Came an accented voice.

"Who the hell is this? How did you get on this line?"

"I used to use it quite a lot," came a familiar voice.

"Jack!"

"Molders? You're on an Inquisitorial ship in high orbit."

" _Was._ I'm with a man called Bjargborn and the rest of my squad aboard a Vendetta with a full payload, enroute to the hot zone. We'll handle your Titan."

"Noted. But you better not get me executed after this is done."

"I'll do my best, sir. Relay target coordinates." The Vendetta swooped down.

"Target locked," said Bjargborn. "Jack, ready on the missiles."

"Ready."

"Fire." A group of missiles shot from the gunship, striking the Titan at its waist. Void shields flickered, flared, and went down. The Titan still stood. The gunship swooped up, over the head of the Titan, and down behind it as Vulcan mega bolter shells ripped the air behind it to shreds. It then cut its engines completely.

"Oh, son of a bitch." Then, as it fell behind the titan, its thrusters roared to life. It fired its lascannons. The twin beams of light ripped through the hull, breaching it with a flash of white-hot matter. The Titan swayed briefly. And collapsed. It fell slowly, like an ancient god toppled from a throne, like a mighty warrior-being finally meeting its match, and struck a Knight. They both exploded.

Raquel was, surprisingly, alive, and in one piece. She was in a fiery bubble. Tullius was next to her. Ana was behind. Ana was concentrating very hard. Tullius was readying his Sabre. The bubble slowly turned transparent. Cultists were advancing on them. Chaos Marines were among their number. Tullius loaded a fresh clip into his pistol. "Guys…" said Ana, blood trickling from her nose, "I can't hold onto the power to keep this barrier up much longer."

"Then don't. Blow it outwards, burn everything you can. Can you still fight?"

"Yeah."

"Tullius?"

"I will draw fire."

"Ok. Blow it in three," time began to seem to slow. Her brain was moving faster than her pumping heart, she was instantly, instinctively even though she had never done it before, scanning for tactical weaknesses. _Leftrightcentrecovertheretheretheretherkillzonetherethertherecouldgetpinneddownthereavoidthatonethatonethatoneconcentratefireonethatonethenmovetherethentherethenthere_. "Two," _TulliusarmedwithweaponcutsthroughlightarmourrelyonAnaforkillingthatonethatonethatone._ "One," _focusontheleftallareuntrainedCultists._ "Go." she charged forward, Ana sending a burst of flame towards a Chaos Space marine. She herself dodged a volley of desperate autogun fire and stabbed the man responsible. A Chaos Marine rushed her. She drew her pistol, and leapt, sailing clean over its head while firing her pistol. It took eight rounds to the top of its skull, and fell down. She kept moving, firing as she went, jumping into the midst of enemy formations and killing with ease. Tullius, a few metres to her left, carved a bloody swath through the enemy. He fought with his sword and pistol at the same time, slashing and shooting. A Chaos Champion charged to engage him in melee, and he went low, sweeping the foe's power-armoured legs from beneath it with a scything kick at knee-height. He fired two shots into its skull without looking back. Ana fired with cold precision, sending bursts of flame as well to supplement her precise lasgun volleys. Raquel leapt over the head of a mighty Plague Marine. She stabbed it in the back, but it ignored her. It slowly turned, and swiped at her like she was an insect. She rolled away from the clumsy sweep, and readied her lasrifle. She overcharged it, and emptied the clip. The lasbolts glanced from its armour. It was then that she felt cold dread grab her heart. "Support!" a blast of warpflame took the pustulent being's head off. Ana made a finger gun, and mimed blowing away some smoke. "Thanks!" Ana smiled. Tullius was still reaping a swathe, his sabre trailing an arc of blood, but his armour had taken damage. Now he fought more slowly. She picked up her knife, and kept cutting her way through the enemy.


	19. The Grand Freaking Finale

The Vendetta was in trouble. Mickey could see that. The enemy, determined to avenge their Titan, was throwing everything at it, and even lucky autogun shots could do damage if they entered an exposed engine or circuit. Smoke trailed from the doomed gunship. Mickey used the turret he had commandeered to send off volleys of fire at the enemy, trying to help his friends in the gunship by bringing down enemy AA. As he watched, the gunship banked round for another pass, its engines facing towards him. He saw three missiles come arcing up from a heavy weapon team he had not seen. They struck the gunship, and ripped a hole in its wing. It tumbled to earth, sending up a mighty plume of battle-scarred dirt. He saw six figures stumble from the wreckage, clutching weapons. The enemy continued its relentless advance. It would be upon the stricken veterans within minutes. Already, fire was whistling and humming and buzzing around the gunship wreckage. There are some things you don't think about. Things you just do. Things that have a ninety-nine percent chance to go horribly, cataclysmically wrong, but they might just go sort-of ok. Things that will probably get you killed, executed for incompetence after the battle if not shot dead during the fight. This was one of those things. He abandoned his turret. Walked over to the vox. Turned it on. "Attention, all units! I'm not good at speeches, and I never will be! I'm not a hero, and I don't try to be! But I know one thing. We have an enemy at our door! They have billions, we have millions! We are outnumbered, ten to one! But we have a duty! A mission! A series of orders! And we will drive the enemy off this planet!" he paused. What he was about to say might kill millions. "Charge!" A ragged cry came from their line. A thin, green line it was, between madness and order, between evil and worse, that had been put there to buy ten more minutes for an Imperium it barely understood. And now, it stood, climbed out of its holes, and stood, a thin green line ready to break. And it was bloody inspiring. Soldiers stood abreast, ragged, torn, bloodied, beaten, bruised, battered. Some leaned on their rifles as support. But they stood their, and they leaned. And glared defiance at the enemy line, a mighty horde, red and green and black and blue and every other colour of the rainbow. And Mickey stood there. And he charged. "Yaaaaaaah!" he didn't know what he was shouting. And then the whole army stood beside him. They were charging too. A thousand gun barrels swung into position on the other side of the earth's collection of scar tissue. Two hundred metres to effective range. One ninety.

Tullius cut his way through another Chaos Marine, the blade cleaving it from shoulder to hip. His armour was dented, but he fought on, cutting and weaving, blasting enemies apart. Then, quite suddenly, the enemy ranks parted before him. And he received a blast of energy on a scale reserved for knocking down battle titans. He flew backwards. Whatever this new threat was, Raquel and Ana would be facing it alone.

He almost pitied it.

Raquel saw Tullius thrown back. Ana sent off a burst of flame at the enemies pressing in on them. RAquel turned to her. "Think you can handle this?"

"Go for it." Raquel grinned, and charged towards the source of the blast that had sent Tullius flying. She saw a Chaos sorcerer, looking...confused? And then, she witnessed a thing that chilled her to her very core. The Sorcerer was changing. It was glowing with unholy energies, sparking, levitating, the whole bundle. At the same time came a shocking realization. They had only killed three dæmons aboard the Titan. _Oh, mierda._ The Sorcerer turned to her.

"I am going to kill you now." It spoke with a sort of smug certainty.

"Piss off." it was a masterful quip, given the circumstances. She charged to take it on. She swung her knife, as a feint, and emptied her clip into its abdomen as it blocked her swing. Overcharged shots. It didn't even notice. She dropped her pistol, and leapt away. Her lasrifle could, maybe, bring it down. It then threw a blast of energy in the shape of a knife at her head. Maybe not. She saw Tullius lying motionless on the sand. A group of cultists approached him. One fired a shot. It struck his armour, and glanced off. The next shot hit him under the pauldron. It sunk into flesh. He didn't move. Her rage redoubled, she charged again. The Sorcerer swung its hand, and the hand struck her, its force quintupled, and she felt the air expelled from her body. She controlled her fall, and rolled to her feet. That son of a bitch was strong. It leveled its staff, and she hurled herself away on instinct. The ground where she had been standing burst into flame. The Sorcerer actually looked rather confused. And then a mighty figure strode from the flames. A Dæmon of Khorne. It drew a mighty blade. She settled into a fighting stance. It handed her the sword. "What?" she said, incredulous.

"What?" said the Sorcerer, incredulous.

"Your time in this plot is at an end. The story is resolving. Goodbye."

"No! What is this?"

"Your necessity in the Great Game is at an end, pawn. Goodbye."

"Damn you! Damn you, Khornate!" but the Dæmon was gone. Leaving Raquel with the sword. The Sorcerer swung its staff, hard, at her head, and to the surprise of both, Raquel blocked it. The sword had moved almost of its own accord. She gasped. Liquid power was flowing through her veins. She swung back, and the sword darted like an angry, quicksilver snake. The Sorcerer looked perplexed as his arm hit the dusty soil. And then, he swung a punch with the other arm. The sword blocked. An arm struck the soil. And then, both arms grew back. _Damn._ The Sorcerer swung again, and the sword was caught by surprise. She was sent flying back. The sword went further, out of her reach. And Tullius woke up. He had a headache, and a cultist was poking his back with a bayonet. Then, he saw Raquel lying on the ground, the Sorcerer advancing on her triumphantly.

It started as a trickle. All things do. It then grew, breaching through cracks in the iron dam that contained it. It was all the emotion Tullius had, hidden, under the sheets of metal and wire in his mind, carrying around with him, keeping contained. If unleashed, it threatened to destroy him. He opened the floodgates, and let it go. Rage filled him. He leapt to his feet, letting the rage take hold, swinging his mighty fists left and right, sending the Chaos cultists flying. He then charged the enemy. "RAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" the Sorcerer turned around to recieve a pair of angry sledgehammer blows to the face. He flew back. Tullius pressed the attack, fists still swinging, driving the Sorcerer back further. Raquel pulled herself to her feet. Tullius was thrown back by the Sorcerer, but his rage gave him strength, and he kept charging, and tackled the Sorcerer into the ground. He swung his fists with reckless abandon, his foe being turned to minced meat and crushed armour beneath his knuckles. "Die!" He yelled. And the Sorcerer's face and body healed. Tullius had a brief moment of realisation. Then he was thrown away, towards the Guard lines. Raquel scrambled for the sword, and grabbed it. The Sorcerer stood up. The sword was a sliver of starlight. The Sorcerer's head rolled away across the dirt. It came to a rest at Ana's feet. She looked down at it. Instantly, she knew what to do. She grabbed it, and held it up for all to see.

Mickey was probably going to die. Screw that. He was going to die. What he did not expect was for the enemy lines to break before him, and for him to be shooting and lashing out with bayonet and rifle butt. He did not expect to see a Space Marine land next to him, stand up, and begin charging forward, slashing left and right. He definitely did not expect to see Raquel and Ana hugging each other, Raquel holding a sword that looked awesome, all golden, like something the Emperor would use, and Ana with her hands covered in thick, red gore, probably related to the headless corpse and head next to them. As the Chaos forces ran, Mickey couldn't even find a smartass quip.

The lone scribe hurried through the labyrinthine maze of documents. He had a few entries on various individuals to update.

Raquel Menzanez

Mutant, believed heretic, current whereabouts unknown.

Inquisitor Raquel Menzanez, Ordo Xenos

Promoted on the battlefield due to heroic exploits, absolved of heresy. Current whereabouts omitted, likely aboard Inquisitorial Vessel _Vigilant Spectre._ In possession of a relic of unknown origin.

Lady Ana Moroz

Unsanctioned Psyker. Eliminate at all costs if located.

Inquisitorial Aide Ana Moroz

Powerful, sanctioned psyker. Serves alongside Inquisitor Menzanez aboard vessel _Vigilant Spectre._

Sergeant Jack Molders

Sergeant of squad seven in the 97th Nox regiment.

Stormtrooper Sergeant Jack Molders

Sergeant in charge of squad seven, Stormtroopers assigned to Inquisitorial vessel _Vigilant Spectre._ Squad includes Technical Specialist Adelina Martinez, sniper Hamish McCameron, Weapon Specialist Carl Jones, and Demolitions Expert Joe Carson.

Shipmaster Jorik Bjargborn

In command of Inquisitorial vessel _Pious Vigilance_ _Vigilant Spectre_.

Sergeant Michael DuFresne

Nox 97th.

Armoury Master Michael DuFresne

Assigned to Inquisitorial vessel _Vigilant Spectre._

Inquisitor Bartholomew Seveyrali

Inquisitor, Ordo Hereticus. CENSORED BY INQUISITORIAL MANDATE

Veteran-Brother Tullius

Veteran of Iron Hands chapter. Multiple accolades. Now on assignment to the Deathwatch.

The scribe hurried off. His wife was making pie.

"Thrusters, Warp Drives, and Lances at your command, Inquisitor."

"Stormtroopers strapped in, and ready for jump."

"Engineering reports all systems at your command."

"Gunnery control. All stations report weapons charged." Raquel walked onto the bridge.

"Great. Let's go."

"Where, Inquisitor?"

"About eight systems behind the front edge of Hive fleet Leviathan. Grosznyk wants samples of Lictor, Hive Tyrant, and Haruspex tissue. Tullius, are you and the others ready?"

"Ready." Tullius grated over the vox. The other members of the Deathwatch Kill-team assigned to her, Attano, Crellus, Entrennus, and Callus, also gave noises of assent.

"Right! Shipmaster, punch it." And the vessel Vigilant Spectre shot away into the night.

The Emperor's spiritual representation shook hands with Malice, a being of much greater power than he, but one easily manipulated. "Right, done. I think we should work together in future, as well."

"Good idea. Now, I have to go increase the Keeper of Secrets' level of numbing chemicals."

"Ok." the Emperor looked at the little ship speeding through the Warp. "Good luck, Inquisitor."

 ** _I should probably clarify a few things. First off, in this story, the events of Gathering Storm never happened. Abbadon didn't have the_** ** _arms_** ** _skill to beat Creed, and was forced back, over a_** ** _mountain_** ** _Battle Titan and Baneblade company. This story will have a sequel, which I am working on, and you should all look out for that if you enjoyed Guardian Angel. Thank you for putting up with my scatty uploading, and stay_** ** _awesome_** ** _neat._**


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